J 


The  Parson. 


The   Parson's   Boys 


By 
ROBERT  CASEY,  A.   M. 


WASH-DRAWINGS  AND  PEN  SKETCHES, 
CHARACTER  SKETCHES,      •> 
MARGINAL  EMBELLISHMENTS, 


BY  A.  DOROTHY  CESSNA 
BY  L.  C.  PHIFER 
BY  LUCILE  KLING 


-it? 


DENVER,  COLORADO 
THE  PARSON'S  BOYS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1906 


PRESS    OF    THE    METHODIST    BOOK    CONCERN,    CINCINNATI,    OHIO 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
THE  PARSON'S  BOYS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


SON  OF  A  PARSON 

THIS  VOLUME 


BY  THE  AUTHOR 


i£ lulinm.  0brg  gnur  parrnta  in  th.r  Curb,  far  tlfia 
IB  rigljt,"— EPH.  vi,  i. 


yr  fat^rra.  praunkr  nnt  gaur  rtjtlbrrn  10 
utratly,  but  nurture  ib.rm  tn  tl^r  rliaatrning 
an&  atonunttum  of  ttje  Carb."— EPH.  vi,  4. 


Cone  rnburrth.  lan^  anb  ta  hinb."— '  COR.  xni,  4- 


FOREWORD. 


IJarHon'a  boya  art  tb,*  moral  brata  tn  th,f  pariah,." 

(popular  Jitiiirtiuriil. 


Affftatrit 

State  of  Colorado  ^ 

City  and          >•«. 
County  of  Denver  J 

On  this  First  Day  of  April,  1906,  before  me 
personally  came  Nathan  Bangs  Flint  and  William 
Asbury   Flint,    being   of    lawful   age   and    sound 
minds,  and  made  affidavit  as  follows,  to-wit: 

That  they,  being  the  acknowledged  sons  of  a  Methodist 
preacher,  were  in  nowise  worse  than  other  youths  of  their  own 
ages,  circumstances  and  previous  conditions  of  latitude. 

Furthermore,  they  solemnly  affirm  on  oath  that,  to  the  best  of 
their  knowledge  and  belief,  they  were  very  much  better  than  most 
of  the  boys  of  their  acquaintance  who  had  not  the  distinguished 
honor  of  being  born  of  Methodistic  and  ministerial  lineage. 


The    above    deposition  was    subscribed   and  sworn  to   be- 
fore me  on  the  day  and  date  above  set  forth. 

(Signed)  ANANIAS  LIEBOLD, 

Notary  Public. 
My  commission  expires  when  I  do. 


After  this  solemn  affidavit  we  trust  that  the  scandalous  in- 
dictment above  set  down  will  be  quashed,  and  never  more  heard 
of.  Should  the  Court  still  have  doubts,  however,  He  is  respect- 
fully referred  to  the  inside  evidence  we  present. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
A  SATURDAY'S  TASK. 

PAGE 

The  Parson's  part — He  goes  away — Death  of  the  rooster — Peni- 
tence— Gaudy  speculations — The  broken  saw — Keeps — Evening 
chores — Preparations  for  Sunday,  13-26 

CHAPTER  II. 
"LAYING  UP  MORE  WRATH." 

Sunday  morning  —  Pancakes  —  Catechism  —  Class-meeting  —  Nathan 

testifies — He  falls  from  grace — Getting  even,       -  27-37 

CHAPTER  III. 
"THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME." 

Atoning    efforts  —  "There    comes    the    'Postle"  -  -  More    mischief - 
Daniel's    predicament — "Move    yerselves" — Brother    Ratcliffe — 
Snapguns — Dinner — Mishap    of    the    wagon — Scared    culprits — 
Louise  tells  on  them — The  Parson's  Vengeance,  38-54 

0 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY. 

The  depravity  of  things — Breaking  calves — Means  of  grace — Hard 
work  and  high  hopes — Going  fishing — Pea-sticks — Bean-poles — 
The  sport  at  last — Angling — Accidents — Return  home — Mother's 
offset,  55-69 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  PARSON  TO  THE  FORE. 

Brother    Sisson    and    the    Parson — Missionary    talk — Poor    results — 

Sticking  peas — "Satan  finds  some  mischief  still" — Final  hopes,  7°"77 

CHAPTER  VI. 
FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

Raising    celebration    funds — Purchases — "The    Glorious    Day"-— The 

Fair  grounds — Wooden  niggers — Cigars — Fireworks — "A  fluff,"         78-86 


2  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 
WILLIAM  BECOMES  A  LIFE  MEMBER. 

PAGE 

Relaxation — The  great  Sunday-school  convention — William  is  highly 
honored — Brother  Van  Bunthusen — Silas  Durham — Taunting 
words — William  is  provoked — Fisticuffs — Afterwards,  87-92 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER. 

The  Parson's  ideas — His  methods — "Tomp-tely-tomp-tily"-  -"Muck- 
emtady"-  -"Foolishness" — The  Parson  takes  a  journey — Nathan 
goes  with  him  part  way — The  boy's  disappointment,  •  93-98 

CHAPTER  IX. 
MOTHER'S  WAY. 

The  promise — Hard  work — Brother  Sisson  helps  along — The  advent 
of  "Tomp-tely-tomp-tily" — Sunday  devotions — The  task  com- 
pleted— Mrs.  Flint's  secret — At  Big  Bend — Fine  sport — A  mem- 
orable day — The  return  home — The  fiddle — "Teck  that  thing 
back" — The  Parson  makes  a  revelation — Farm  life  in  prospect — 
"Hightown — Josiah  Flint,"  99-1 13 

CHAPTER  X. 
NEW   SCENES. 

The    happy    departure — Arrival    at    Hightown — Desolation — Useless 

sorrows — First    visit    to  'the    farm — Big    disappointment — School 

—The     Parson's     family    moves    again — Astonishing    changes — 

Night — Homesickness — Strange  •  sights     and     sounds — "Jaggers" 

-The  Parson  comforts  the  frightened  boys — A  new  sunrise,  114-128 

CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  PARSON'S  YARN. 

The  unexpected  shot-gun — Kxcitement  of  the  boys — Instructions — 
The  Parson  relates  a  story — Puncheon  Camp — Unexpected 
game — Bad  luck — Wolves — Good  luck — The  return  home — 
Uncle  Jacky  Johnson's — A  five-prong  buck — The  Parson  gets 
him — The  boys  have  strange  dreams,  129-141 


CONTENTS.  3 

CHAPTER  XII. 
TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME. 

PACK 

"Coon" — First  hunt — Uncle  Bulger — A  spring  rain — Prayers — Run, 
my  sons — William  hastens — Coon  catches  the  varmint — William 
catches  something  too — "Some  kind  of  a  night-bird" — A  great 
hunt — The  Parson  takes  a  hand — A  full  game  bag,  and  a  trip 
to  town,  -  142-157 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
FARM    LORE. 

The     boys     are     lonely — An     eternal     task — "Pe-coob-coob" — Ump- 

Ump — Cohoke — Crank — Ration — Ho-woo — Shikespoke,      -         -    158-169 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
"THE  ROD  OF  CORRECTION." 

Corn-planting — Nathan's  mishap — The  Parson  starts  to  cultivate  the 
crop — Discovery  of  Nathan's  trick — The  Parson  seeks  the  boys — 
They  escape  to  the  field — The  Parson  follows  hot-foot — "Beat! 
Beat!" — The  Parson  does  so — Mrs.  Flint  interferes — Remorse — 
"Be  a  good  boy  for  my  sake,  Nathan!"  -  170179 


CHAPTER  XV. 
SOME  FOOLISHNESS. 

Blackberry  season — Hot  slop — Ration's  greed — Her  queer  punish- 
ment— Coon  and  the  snake — Shike  and  the  snake — The  Parson, 
Shike  and  the  snake — Scathing  rebuke — Ump-Ump  is  scared — 
Parting  words,  180191 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
MORE  FOOLISHNESS. 

Horseflies — Digging  potatoes — Unexpected  visitors — Lots  of  fun — 
Sunday  stories — Pe-coob-coob's  dilemma — Ump-Ump  applauds 
him — A  narrow  escape — "Wasn't  that  lucky?"  192-201 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
PE-COOB-COOB  BEATS  HIS  RECORD. 

PACK 

The  Parson  goes  to  market — Wild  bees — An  experiment — A  bee-tree — 
Going  after  the  prize — The  return — Meeting  Pe-coob-coob  and 
Ump-Ump — William  trees  a  squirrel — "Look  out!  I  'm  a-goin' 
to  shoot!" — Bad  results  of  the  shot — "Whoa!  Whoa!  Whoa, 
there!"- -"Good  fathers  above!" — Nathan  is  run  away  with — 
Nathan  not  a  steeple  chaser — Investigating  damages,  •  202-213 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
WINTER  INCIDENTS. 

Coon's  family — Purty-eyes  —  The  epitaph  —  District  school  —  Tobe 
Corbin — Defiance — Two  little  Quakers — A  big  rain — Pe-coob- 
coob  takes  a  drink — William  gets  a  ducking — The  Otter  Creek 
tragedy — Grief  of  William,  •  214-224 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
NO  ABIDING  CITY. 

Disturbing  rumors — Bluff  City  Circuit — Breaking  up  life  on  the 
farm — The  boys  take  their  first  ride  on  the  cars — The  new 
home — Brother  Dickinson — New  clothes — To  the  river — Won- 
derful things,  -  -  225-237 

CHAPTER  XX. 
BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE. 

The   boys   go   to   prayer-meeting — Brother   Darn    Beckwith — Brother 

Lewis  Somers — A  sister  prays — Jordan  Blake  comes  on  the  scene 

—Nathan   has  toothache — He  goes  to  see   Doctor   Parker — The 

wrong   tooth — School    again — Mr.   Leckrone — Whipcracker,   and 

the    results,  238-252 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  PARSON'S  TEMPER. 

War  and  rumors  of  war — The  Parson  is  disturbed — He  broods — Ruth 
"sasses" — The  Parson  tries  to  correct  her — A  terrible  scene — 
The  family  interferes — Jerry  Ward's  bad  advice — Dark  plots — 
Failure,  -  -  253-262 


CONTENTS^  5 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  DAWN  OF  GRIEF. 

PACK 

Excitement  of  war-time — Rumors  of  the  guerrillas — Bluff  City  is 
aroused — The  Home-guards  send  a  regiment  to  the  war — The 
departure — Bad  news — Mrs.  Flint  leaves  home — A  look  into 
mother's  room — "Oh,  I  do  wisht  she  was  here" — The  Parson 
goes  to  preach,  and  takes  William  with  him,  -  -  263-272 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS. 

The  trip — Brother  Slaten's — The  hawk — William  becomes  lonely — 
Daniel  and  the  hawk's  foot — The  pup  and  the  steel  trap — A 
horrible  mishap — "Aahhh-eee,  aahheee"  went  the  pup — Rescue — 
Punishment  of  William  is  suspended — Church — William  becomes 
acquainted— Up  in  front — William  tries  to  wipe  his  nose — "Leave 
the  room!" — The  return  to  Bluff  City — A  dance  in  the  dead 
leaves — "To  deceive  his  father,"  -  273-292 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  LAST  STRAW. 

At  home — Nathan's  adventures — Mr.  Leckrone's  visit — The  Apostle 
hunts  the  boys — He  discovers  their  hiding  place — Summary  ven- 
geance— The  boys  take  a  nap — Wakened  by  the  Parson — Final 
resolves,  -  293-303 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
TRAMP!  TRAMP!  THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING. 

The  Parson's  way — He  leaves  home  for  the  night — The  boys  forage 
—They  start   for  the  war — A   gloomy  journey — Speculations — 
Fright — At  the  slaughter-house — Preparations  foe  the  night — A 
gritty  lunch — Quarreling  hogs — Final  discomfort,  -    304-316 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT. 

Ugly  dreams — A  grand  charge  of  the  hogs — Cautious  voices — Guer- 
rillas— Hideous  plans — "Chokin'l" — The  boys  hear  a  horrible 
plot — They  make  heroic  resolves,  317-326 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE. 

PAGE 

The  boys  steal  out — At  the  highway — Blake  sees  them — He  hastens 
back— "Sold,  Cap!"- -"Oh,  Pa,  guerri'ls!"— Fly,  Daniel— Dan- 
ger creeps  near — Nathan  takes  a  short  cut — At  close  quarters — 
The  Home-guards — "Thank  God!" — A  strange  sight,  •  327-340 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
THE  PARSON'S  ANGUISH. 

"The  boy's  hit!"— Wild  rumors— "Where  is  Nathan ?"— Panic- 
Search  for  the  missing  boy — Nathan  is  found — "Here  he  is, 
Doctor;  is  he  dead?" — Grave  fears — The  Parson  prays  to  the 
Doctor — Fever — Mrs.  Flint's  return — Lonely  night-watches,  -  341-349 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
LINGERING  SHADOWS. 

Anxious  days — Fate  of  the  guerrillas — End  of  Jordan  Blake — Nathan's 
sickness — The  Parson  is  tireless — His  grief — The  crisis — The 
Parson  weeps — A  tender  kiss — Dr.  Parker's  bill,  -  350-360 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
SORROW  AND  SIGHING. 

A  prolonged  Fall — The  Parson  falls  sick — Dr.  Parker's  diagnosis — 
Depression — Tender  words  from  stern  lips — "I  love  you" — 
Thirty  long  days — Delirium — Ghosts  of  bygone  years — The 
fever  breaks — The  Parson  collapses — A  narrow  escape — Sunshine 
again,  -  361-372 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
SUNSHINE  AFTER  STORM. 

Convalescent  days — The  Parson  is  re-converted — "Love  that  en- 
dureth  long  and  is  kind" — The  coming  Christmas — The  Parson 
and  the  boys  take  a  drive  with  Dr.  Parker — Scenes  and  memo- 
ries along  the  way — At  Mr.  Borden's — At  the  slaughter-house 
once  more — Nathan  tells  the  whole  story — About  the  belts — 
Nathan  finds  them — "The  spoils  of  war!" — Home  again — 
Immense  astonishment  and  delight — The  Doctor  gives  his  advice 
—The  Parson  decides  a  grave  question — A  happy  family — Long 
talks  about  it — Family  prayers — William  weeps.  "What 's  the 
matter,  my  son!"  'O-O-O  P-P-Pa,  I-I-I  think  I've  g-g-goott 
religion!"  -  373-388 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


WASH  DRAWINGS 

BY  Miss  A.  DOROTHY  CESSNA. 


1.  THE    PARSON,  Frontispiece 

2.  THE  WHITE  HAIR  INDUSTRY,    -  -     Facing  page     20 

3.  SAT  DOWN  ON  THE  PLATFORM  TO  REST,  "          "  28 

4.  WILLIAM  GETS  CAUGHT,  -  "  64 

5.  WILLIAM  BECOMES  A  LIFE  MEMBER,                      -  "          "  88 

6.  "TACKY,"  -  "          «  I2O 

7.  "Bio  FIVE  PRONG  BUCK,"  "          "  140 

8.  STUMBLED  OVER  THE  GANDER,    -  "  150 

9.  "YAH  HERE!    Yow!    'SCAT!"  "  186 

10.  "PE-CooB-CooB's  DILEMMA,"  "          "  2oo 

11.  "LOOKOUT!    I'M  A-GOIN' TO  SHOOT!"  -  "          "  210 

12.  "ASKED  HER  IF  SHE  COULD  SING, 

'How  TE'JIS  AND  TAS'ELESS  THE  HOURS?' "  "  220 

13.  "THE  BOYS  GRABBED  EACH  A  STURDY  LEG,"  -  "  256 

14.  "HE  BEGAN  TO  PRAY,"  "  266 

15.  "AHH-EEE,  AHH-EEE,"  WENT  THE  PUP,  "  282 

16.  "RAN  BY  THE  UNSUSPECTING  SPY,"    -  "  332 

17.  "FLY,  DANIEL,  FLY!"  "  336 

1 8.  "LOOKING  INTO  THE  WHITE  FACE,"    -  "  344 

19.  "A  SWIFT  VENGEANCE,"  "          "  350 

20.  THE  PARSON'S  WIFE,  "  368 

21.  HAPPY  GREETINGS,  "  374 

22.  "WHOOP-PEE!"  YELLED  THE  DOCTOR,  "          "  382 


PEN  SKETCHES. 

PAGE 

1.  LAYING  OUT  THE  TASK,  A.  Dorothy  Cessna     13 

2.  CLIPPED  A  FEATHER,  14 

3.  STEPPED  ON  A  SMALL  HOOP,  22 

7 


8  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGB 

4.  CATECHISM,  A.  Dorothy  Cessna     29 

5.  "LET  NOT  YOUR  HEARTS  BE  TROUBLED,"  31 

6.  A  DRUM-STICK,  35 

7.  FLEW  TO  OPEN  THE  GATE,    -  38 

8.  "SKIK,.SKIK!    GIT  UP,  BALLY,"  43 

9.  SAW  THE  WAGON  ROLLING  DOWN  HILL,  47 
10.  CROSS  EXAMINATION:  "WHERE'S  THE  SAW?"  -  50 
n.  FORGOT  TO  UNTIE  THEIR  TAILS,    -  55 

12.  ON  THE  WAY  TO  BIG  BEND,    -  61 

13.  ON  THE  WAY  HOME,  68 

14.  WITH  FOOT  UP  AND  HEAD  DOWN,  70 

15.  PEA-STICKING,  74 

1 6.  THROWING  CLAY  BALLS,  75 

17.  A  THUMP  OF  THE  HOE,  76 

1 8.  TOOK  THEIR  IRON  TO  A  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP,    -  79 

19.  PERCHED  UPON  THE  FENCE,  79 

20.  THE  COB  FLEW  INTO  A  DOZEN  PIECES,    -  85 

21.  GAVE  WILLIAM  A  QUARTER,  89 

22.  "TOMP-TELY-TOMP-TILY,"  94 

23.  MUCKEMTADY,  "              95 

24.  DROVE  A  NAIL  THROUGH  THE  SIDE,  98 

25.  BROTHER  SISSON,  L.  C.  Phifer  100 

26.  BROKE  WITH  A  SNAP,  -     A.  Dorothy  Cessna  101 

27.  AT  BIG  BEND  AGAIN,  106 

28.  LOLLED  ABOUT  IN  THE  SHADE,  -      Lucile  Kl'ing  108 

29.  MOWED  DOWN  THE  WEEDS,  A.Dorothy  Cessna  116 

30.  FIRST  VIEW  OF  THE  FARM,  118 

31.  THE   HIGH  TOWN    MINISTER,  L.  C.  Phifer  121 

32.  CAME  BACK  WITH  A  GUN,  130 

33.  THE    PARSON'S  YARN,  A.Dorothy  Cessna  132 

34.  AT  UNCLE  JACKY  JOHNSON'S,  139 

35.  "A  TANGLE  OF  DREAMS"  [TAIL  PIECE],  141 

36.  A  FRISKY  THIEF,  144 

37.  TRAM  PHD  ON  A  BRIER,  170 

38.  SOMETIMES  STRUCK   HIM  AMIDSHIPS,  171 
y).  On   MA!  COME  QUICK!  "                       176 
40.  BLACKBERRY   SEASON,  180 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  9 

PAGE 

41.  "WEE!   BOOH-UH,  WOOH!"  A.Dorothy  Cessna  182 

42.  "K-H-H-H!   Woww!"       -  "        "             186 

43.  WENT   HUNTING,  192 

44.  UNCLE  CLINT,  197 

45.  "WAS  N'T  THAT  LUCKY?"    -  "        "            201 

46.  BAITING  THE  BEES,  "         "             203 

47.  ON  THE  WAY  HOME,  "            207 

48.  ROSE  AT  IT  LIKE  A  HUNTER,    -  212 

49.  "PURTY  EYES,"  "        "            216 

50.  "WHAT'S  YER  NAME?"  "        "            217 

51.  WILLIAM  SCRAMBLED  TO  THE  BANK,  -                                                   221 

52.  A  REBEL  (As  THE  BOYS  FANCIED  HIM),  -      L.  C.  Phifer  227 

53.  THE  REBEL — As  HE  REALLY  WAS,  -                                                   229 

54.  WONDERED  WHAT  AILED  MA,  A.  Dorothy  Cessna  230 

55.  CLIMBED  A  TREE,  "             234 

56.  "HERE  SHE  COMES!"  "                      236 

57.  BROTHER  DARN  BECKWITH,  L.  C.  Phifer  239 

58.  JORDAN  BLAKE.  245 
59  "WRENCHED  THE  PESKY  ACHER  OUT,"  A.Dorothy  Cessna  250 

60.  EUNICE,   -  -      L.  C.  Phifer  259 

61.  TRAINED  THE  WEAPON  ON  THE  LOT  GATE,    -         A.  Dorothy  Cessna  261 

62.  LISTENING  TO  THE  CANNON,    -  263 

63.  "To  TIME  THEIR  STEPS,"  "         "             265 

64.  "STANDING  STEADY  AS  A  ROCK,"  277 

65.  THREW  HER  APRON  OVER  His  HEAD,  284 

66.  SHOWED  THEM  His  HAWK'S  FOOT,  286 

67.  "WHY,  MY  SON,  WHAT  is  THIS?"  290 

68.  SAW  NATHAN  COMING,  293 

69.  "WHO  PUT  THIS  PIG  HERE?"  296 

70.  DODGED  INTO  THE  BARN,  300 

71.  BOUND  FOR  THE  WAR,  30? 

72.  LOOKED  THEIR  LAST,  308 

73.  THE  BOYS'  DREAM,  317 

74.  "WELL,  WHAT  NEWS?"  328 

75.  "GoT  THE  ROPE?"  329 

76.  DODGED  ROUND  THE  CORNER,"  331 
77-  "On  PA!     GUER-I-LS!"  335 

2 


io  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGB 

78.  A  STRANGE  SIGHT,    -  -     A.  Dorothy  Cessna  340 

79.  THE  HORSE  STOOD  STILL,     -  "  341 

80.  "WHERE   is   NATHAN?"  -                       "         "  343 

81.  "A  FRENZY  OF  DELIGHT,"  "        "  348 

82.  DOCTOR  PARKER,  -                       "        "  352 

83.  "THE  PARSON  WAS  TIRELESS,"  -                           '*        "  353 

84.  "On  DOLLY,  THANK  GOD!"  "  359 

85.  "SITTING  DROOPED  AND  FEEBLE,"  366 

86.  "I  LOVE  You!"  "  367 

87.  "On  DOCTOR,  RUN!"  "        "  371 

88.  CONVALESCING,  -                       "        "  374 


MARGINAL  EMBELLISHMENTS 

BY  LUCILE  KLING. 


The  Parson's  Boys. 


The  Parson's  Boys 

CHAPTER  I. 
A  SATURDAY'S  TASK. 


"O  WILLIAM!" 

It  was  the  Parson  who  called.  He 
was  busy  dragging  hickory  poles  and 
gnarly  oak  limbs  from  a  huge,  tangled 
wood-pile,  and  putting  them  in  a  place 
by  themselves. 

"O  William!" — this  time  louder. 

With  hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  a  boy  about  eleven 
years  of  age  stood  by  ruefully  watching  the  proceedings,  the 
toes  of  his  bare  feet  burrowing  in  a  heap  of  sawdust  at  the 
end  of  a  rickety,  scarred  old  saw-buck.  As  the  Parson  tugged 

13 


LAYING  OUT  THE  TASK. 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


away,  and  the  pile  of  selected  wood  grew  larger,  the  discon- 
tented look  upon  the  boy's  face  became  deeper,  and  a  cloud 
of  gloom  seemed  to  shadow  him. 

"O  William!" — this  time  quite  savagely. 
"Yes-sur;  I  'm  a-comin',"  a  voice  replied. 
As  the  now  perspiring  Parson  glanced  over  the  lot  fence 
toward  the  parsonage,  a  second  youth  nearly  two  years  younger 
than  the  one  already  mentioned  made  his  appearance  around 
the  corner  of  the  back  porch,  and  came  slowly  through  the 
gate  to  the  scene  of  operations.  He  had  scanty  eyebrows,  a 
very  freckled  face,  and  washed-out  blue  eyes  with  sparse  lashes 
scattered  lonesomely  along  the  lids.  His  hay-colored  hair  was 
surmounted  by  an  apology  for  a  straw  hat  out  of  the  brim  of 
which  some  hungry  cow  had  chewed  a  large  crescent.  While 
coming  reluctantly  at  the  Parson's  call,  he  was  busily  munch- 
ing a  slice  of  bread,  through  the  pores  of  which  sorghum 
molasses  dripped  in  long,  amber  beads. 

"Why  do  n't  y'  answer  when  ye  're  called?"  demanded  the 
impatient  Parson  with  a  look  of  stern  reproach. 

"I  did  answer,  every  time,"  replied  the  boy,  swallowing 
the  last  mouthful  of  bread  and  wiping  his  sticky  fingers  on  the 
saw-buck.  Then  he  picked  up  the  bottom  of  a  tin-can  and 
sailed  it  at  a  rooster  that  had  found  a  beetle 
close  by,  and  was  calling 
loudly  to  his  harem  of 
hens. 

The  missile  was  not  well 
aimed,  but  at  the  last  of  its 

'.D  A  FEATHER. 


A  SATURDAY'S  TASK.  15 

flight  it  took  a  queer  twist,  and  clipped  a  long  curving 
feather  from  the  tail  of  the  chattering  fowl.  As  he  glimpsed 
the  moving  shadow  of  the  tin,  the  rooster  uttered  a  warn- 
ing "h-a-a-w-w-k!"  but  when  it  struck  his  stern  timbers  he  gave 
a  hoarse  squawk  and  jumped  a  yard  from  the  ground  on 
his  way  to  a  place  of  safety.  Both  the  boys  laughed,  but  not 
the  exasperated  Parson.  He  clicked  his  jaws  and  made  a  quick 
pass  at  the  side  of  William's  head,  which  that  watchful  urchin 
adroitly  dodged. 

"What  are  ye  always  tryin'  to  destroy  somethin'  for?" 
asked  the  Parson  angrily.  Then  as  no  answer  came  from  the 
culprit  he  said  warningly,  "You  jist  let  that  be  the  very 
last!" 

After  a  pause  to  allow  this  admonition  to  sink  deep  into 
the  boy's  mind  he  continued: 

"Now  I  'm  going  away,  to  be  gone  over  the  Sabbath;  and 
I  Ve  laid  out  a  pile  of  poles  and  limbs  here,  for  you  and  Nathan 
to  manufacture  into  fire-wood.  See  that  ye  don't  cut  it  too 
long;  and  I  want  to  find  the  job  all  done  when  I  git  back 
Monday." 

With  these  words  he  strode  away  to  the  house.  Shortly 
reappearing  with  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  on  his  arm,  he  mounted 
a  horse  that  had  been  stamping  at  the  gate  for  half  an  hour, 
and  with  a  cluck  and  a  kick,  rode  away  to  one  of  his  preaching 

places. 

&    &    &' 

By  all  standards  which  he  held  as  of  any  value,  Parson 
Flint  was  a  good  man.  The  only  boy  in  a  family  of  seven  chil- 


1 6  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

V 

dren,  and  left  an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  he  had  been  brought 
up  to  share  the  hard  work  and  pinching  poverty  of  a  father- 
less household.  For  several  generations  his  ancestors  had  been 
Methodists  of  the  strictest  type;  and  when  yet  a  very  young 
man  he  himself  had  entered  the  ministry  of  the  church,  becom- 
ing one  of  those  itinerants  who  every  year  or  two  were  moved 
to  new  charges,  having  here  no  abiding  city. 

Parson  Flint  was  tall,  raw-boned,  big  and  austere.  His 
hair  was  still  black,  his  face  rugged  and  stern  featured,  with 
keen  gray  eyes  under  heavy  brows.  He  wore  a  beard,  but  no 
moustache;  and  when  he  set  his  firm  upper  lip  upon  its  nether, 
two  deep  grooves  slanted  from  the  nose  to  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  so  that  when  aroused  to  indignation  his  face  set  and 
hardened  as  if  carved  in  iron. 

There  was  a  strain  of  Scotch  blood  in  his  veins,  and  as  he 
grew  up  the  stern  spirit  of  the  old  Covenanters  seemed  to  crop 
out  in  his  disposition.  His  early  education  had  been  scant,  but 
his  great  and  aggressive  energy  served  him  well  among  the 
people  to  whom  he  ministered,  and  who  shared  his  fervent 
faith. 

One  curious  fact  about  him  is  worthy  of  notice.  When 
talking  with  his  family,  or  mingling  casually  with  his  parish- 
ioners, his  speech  was  usually  that  of  the  back-woods  where  he 
had  been  born  and  reared;  it  was  rude  and  ungrammatical, 
though  often  forceful.  But  when  in  the  pulpit  or  upon  the 
platform,  or  whenever  religiously  moved  and  exalted  much  of 
this  uncouthness  seemed  to  fall  away  from  him,  and  by  some 
strange  inspiration  he  could  rise  into  another  tongue.  Then  he 


A  SATURDAY'S  TASK.  17 

became  Biblical,  sometimes  stately,  and  very  often  thrillingly 
eloquent.  His  ministerial  work  had  thrown  him  among  strange 
peoples,  and  he  was  wont  to  call  himself  an  "Apostle  to  the 
Gentiles." 

Piety  was  the  one  great  business  of  Parson  Flint's  life,  and 
he  worked  at  his  trade  with  tireless  industry.  His  hatred  of 
all  things  wicked  touched  at  times  upon  fanaticism;  thus  he 
sometimes  failed  to  make  necessary  distinctions,  and  was  prone 
to  include  the  sinner  with  his  great  abhorrence  of  sin.  He  was 
much  given  to  old  saws,  and  pious  or  Scriptural  adages.  His 
favorite  quotation  to  the  boys  was  from  Solomon: 

"Foolishness  is  bound  in  the  heart  of  a  child;  but  the  rod 
of  correction  shall  drive  it  far  from  him." 

And  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  showed  his  great  faith  in 
this  remedy  by  using  it  on  all  occasions.  The  dreams,  pranks 
and  impulses  of  his  own  youth  had  long  been  put  aside;  and 
he  firmly  believed  that  the  right  method  for  keeping  boys  out 
of  mischief  was  to  "correct"  them  often,  giving  them  after- 
wards plenty  of, hard,  disagreeable  work  to  do. 

So  as  upon  this  Saturday  he  strode  away  to  his  duties,  he 
felt  sure  that  the  task  he  had  laid  out  for  the  two  urchins 
would  be  enough  to  keep  them  busy,  and  prevent  them  from 
"sitting  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful  or  standing  in  the  way  of 

sinners." 

%     %     te 

As  the  Parson  disappeared  from  view  down  the  street, 
the  boys,  who  had  been  doggedly  hacking  away  at  their  task, 
flung  down  ax  and  saw,  uttering  a  loud  whoop  of  satisfaction. 


i8 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


71 


William  even  went  so  far  as  to  turn  a  summersault,  but  came 
down  on  a  big  chip,  when  he  quickly  scrambled  up  again,  with 
a  wry  face  and  a  vigorous  rub  of  the  hurt  place. 

The  rooster  had  recovered  from  his  fright,  and  they  now 
spied  him  in  a  neighboring  fence  corner,  lying  on  his  side  and 
scratching  dust  over  his  heated  body.  In  another  second  the 
unsuspecting  fowl  was  astonished  by  a  bombardment  of  chips. 
With  a  hoarse  note  of  terror  he  sprang  up  and  tried  to  creep 
through  a  hole  in  the  fence;  but  it  was  too  small  for  him,  and 
he  suddenly  backed  out,  doubtless  intending  to  run  for  it.  But 
alas!  Just  as  he  withdrew  his  head  from  the  hole  a  sharp- 
edged  chip  hit  him  square  and  hard.  He  gave  one  tremendous 
flop,  and  the  next  second  was  lying  on  his  back,  his  wings  feebly 
moving  and  his  expiring  legs  kicking  the  June  air.  The  missile 
had  broken  his  neck! 

When  the  boys  realized  what  they  had  done,  there  was  a 
gasp  of  dismay,  and  they  felt  the  bitterest  remorse.  Who  would 
have  dreamed  of  such  an  outcome  to  a  little  sport?  They  knew 
well  what  the  reckoning  for  it  would  be  when  the  Parson  re- 
turned. A  dark  scheme  suggested  itself;  they  thought  of  sneak- 
ing the  dead  rooster  away  and  burying  him.  But  when  inquiry 
was  made  they  knew  the  truth  would  out,  and  so  that  decep- 
tion was  abandoned.  They  talked  it  over  for  some  time,  and 
then  with  many  futile  regrets  Nathan  took  the  dead  fowl  and 
went  to  tell  his  mother.  She  was  working  in  the  kitchen,  and 
when  she  saw  what  the  weeping  boy  carried  in  his  hand  the 
truth  was  easily  guessed. 

"Now  what  have  you  done?"  she  asked  reproachfully. 


A  SATURDAY'S  TASK.  19 

"Oh  ma,"  Nathan  blubbered,  "we  did  n't  mean  to  kill 
him;  really  and  truly  we  didn't.  We  was  only  havin'  some 
fun,  and  tryin'  to  scare  him  off;  but  he  got  in  the  way  of  a  chip, 
an'  it  killed  him.  But  we  never  once  thought  of  doin'  such  a 
thing;"  and  sincere  tears  attested  his  grief. 

"Ah  my  son,"  replied  Mrs.  Flint  sadly,  "you  never  stop  to 
think  until  it's  too  late.  My  best  rooster,  too!  What  will 
your  pa  say  when  he  gets  back?" 

Nathan  guessed  only  too  well  what  it  would  be,  and  gave 
way  to  renewed  tears  as  he  thought  of  "the  judgment  to  come." 
After  snuffling,  and  trying  hard  to  explain  for  several  minutes 
he  returned  dismally  to  the  wood-pile,  and  with  William  set 
to  work  in  earnest  at  his  task. 

They  toiled  hard  for  nearly  an  hour,  but  at  the  end  of  that 
time  there  was  not  a  very  great  difference  in  the  size  of  the 
stint  laid  out  by  the  sturdy  Parson.  Nathan  eyed  the  re- 
mainder gloomily. 

"We  can't  git  it  done  in  a  week,"  growled  William  sav- 
agely. He  had  been  watching  the  black  expression  on  his 
brother's  face. 

But  Nathan  suddenly  had  an  idea.  "Jist  you  wait,"  he 
said. 

Then  climbing  on  top  the  main  wrood-pile,  he  threw  off 
a  large  quantity  of  the  lighter  stuff,  and  with  William's  help 
put  about  a  third  of  the  amount  laid  out  for  them  to  cut  in  the 
hole  thus  made,  covering  it  over  with  the  limbs  he  had  dis- 
placed. After  accomplishing  this  fatiguing  task  the  boys  sat 
down  to  rest. 


20  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"Do  n't  ye  wisht  we  had  a  million  dollars?"  asked  Wil- 
liam when  he  had  got  his  breath  again. 

A  million  was  William's  idea  of  the  extreme  limit  of 
wealth.  In  all  his  life  he  had  never  owned  more  than  five  cents 
at  a  time.  This  desirable  sum  he  occasionally  earned  by 
"catching  white  hairs."  The  process  was  as  follows: 

Often  on  a  warm  day  the  Apostle  would  take  his  Bible  or 
a  volume  of  Wesley's  sermons  and  retire  to  the  shade  of  a  tree 
in  the  yard  to  read.  Here,  tipped  back  in  his  chair,  he  would 
soon  become  drowsy,  closing  his  eyes,  dropping  his  head,  and 
holding  the  book  loosely  in  one  hand  with  a  finger  between 
the  leaves  to  keep  the  page.  This  restful  occupation  he  called 
"meditating;"  and  during  such  sleepy  spells,  liking  to  have  his 
head  fumbled,  he  would  say  to  William: 

"Now,  my  son,  see  if  ye  kin  find  fifty  white  hairs  on  yer 
daddy's  head,  and  if  do  I'll  give  ye  a  five-center." 

William  would  seize  upon  this  chance  for  wealth  with 
great  avidity.  Such  occasions  were  not  frequent,  however.  The 
Parson  was  wonderfully  economical,  and  he  usually  made  the 
terms  of  payment  impossible.  Thus  he  would  stipulate  as  the 
condition  of  the  reward  that  William  should  find  a  gray  hair 
of  a  given  length, — say  a  half  inch  or  an  inch  longer  than  any 
kind  of  hair  on  his  head. 

But  if  the  Parson  sought  to  be  shrewd,  William  in  his 
turn  was  guileful.  This  white-hair  industry  was  his  only  source 
of  revenue,  and  he  couldn't  afford  to  fail.  So  he  would  slyly 
smuggle  into  his  pocket  a  few  hairs  of  the  required  length  from 
the  white  tip  of  the  old  cow's  tail.  Then  having  extended 


m 


The  White-Hair  Industry. 


22 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


"I  'd  a  good  deal  rather  have  an  Aladdin's  lamp,"  said 
Nathan  as  William  paused  in  his  rapt  recital. 

"Could  ye  do  more  with  that  than  with  a  million  dol- 
lars?" asked  William  doubtfully. 

"Shucks!  I  sh'd  think  ye  could!  W'y  all  ye  have  to  do 
is  jist  to  rub  the  lamp,  and  a  great  big  jinny-i  pops  up  and 
says, — 'What  would'st  thou?  I  'm  ready  to  obey  thee  as  thy 
slave,  and  the  slave  of  all  that  holds  the  lamp  in  their  hands:' 
and  when  ye  tell  him  to  do  it  he  brings  ye  money,  and  fine 
clothes  and  di'monds;  and  if  ye 're  hungry  he  fetches  a  big 
table  with  silver  dishes  loaded  down  with  pound-cake  and  fried 
chicken  and  gravy  and  flaky  biscuits  like  mother  makes  when 
company  comes,  and  butter  and  honey,  and  everything  ye 
want!" 

While  his  brother  was  describing  these  marvels  William 
had  risen  to  his'  knees;  his  eyes  were  suffused,  and  the  .water 
was  coming  to  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  As  Nathan  finished, 
William  sank  back  on  his  heels  in  a  kind  of  trance,  and  ex- 
claimed with  intense  longing: 

"My  o-h-h!    Do  n't  ye  wisht  we  had  one?" 
Just  at  this  juncture   Mrs.   Flint  called   from   the  back 
porch:  "Oh  William,  bring  mother  an  arm- 
load of  stove-wood:  be  quick  about 
it,  the  fire  is  nearly  out." 

William  sprang  up  instantly 
obey.  Longings  for  another 
bread  and  sorghum  lunch 
spurred  him  greatly.  He  gath- 

— 

n\    \  SMAM,  HOOP. 


A  SATURDAY'S  TASK.  23 

ered  up  the  wood  and  started  for  the  kitchen;  near  the  porch, 
however,  he  stepped  on  a  small  hoop  which  flew  up  and 
whacked  him  viciously  across  the  shins.  Tripping,  he  lunged 
forward  and  brought  up  against  the  cistern  curb,  his  armful 
of  wood  flying  in  every  direction. 

The  clattering  noise  and  William's  screech  brought  Mrs. 
Flint  hurriedly  to  the  rescue.  She  helped  the  boy  to  his  feet, 
and  after  picking  up  the  wood  again  he  limped  tearfully  into 
the  house,  where  he  was  quickly  comforted  by  a  large  slice  of 
bread  and  molasses. 

"Do  try  to  be  more  careful,  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Flint  as 
she  handed  it  to  him.  Then  preparing  a  second  slice  she  di- 
rected him  to  give  it  to  Nathan. 

William  started  for  the  wood-pile  once  more;  but  before 
turning  the  corner  of  the  porch  he  made  a  careful  survey  of 
the  two  slices  of  bread.  His  own  was  a  fourth  eaten;  so  he 
nibbled  the  edge  off  square,  and  upon  reaching  the  lot,  soberly 
handed  this  to  his  brother,  keeping  the  whole  slice  for  his, own 
use.  Then  they  sat  down,  and  for  a  few  minutes  werve  too  busy 
to  speak.  After  the  last  crumb  had  been  put  away,  William 
said  with  a  sheepish  grin: 

"Mother's  picked  the  rooster,  and  she  's  a  cookin'  some  of 
it,  I  guess.  Somethin'  smelled  like  it,  anyhow." 

While  Nathan  was  cutting  a  caper  at  this  welcome  news 
he  spied  the  calf  lying  in  a  fence-corner,  waggling  its  big  ears, 
and  beating  its  tail  up  and  down  in  drowsy  efforts  to  keep  off 
the  flies.  Slipping  behind  the  sleepy  animal,  he  seized  it  by 
the  busy  tail.  The  calf  scrambled  to  its  feet  in  a  fright  and 


24  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

started  for  the  barn;  but  finding  the  door  shut  it  turned  again 
and  raced  down  the  fence,  Nathan  clinging  tightly  and  going 
ten  feet  at  a  jump. 

"B-a-a-a!"  bawled  the  flying  calf;  and  Whitey,  the  old  cow 
that  was  grazing  not  far  away  came  bellowing  and  shaking  her 
head  threateningly  at  the  tormentor  of  her  offspring.  Finally 
in  an  attempt  to  turn  suddenly  in  a  corner  the  calf  slipped  and 
came  down  on  its  side  with  a  terrible  thump,  running  its  hind 
legs  through  the  lower  crack  in  the  fence.  There  it  lay,  pant- 
ing and  rolling  its  big  eyes  as  if  utterly  exhausted. 

Nathan  looked  up  apprehensively  and  saw  his  mother  with 
one  of  the  girls  watching  him  from  the  back  porch.  He  was 
now  badly  frightened  lest  the  awkward  brute  had  done  itself 
some  serious  injury.  His  scare  was  not  lessened  as  his  sister 
called  sharply: 

"You  little  torment!  I'll  lay  you've  hurt  that  calf,  and 
maybe  killed  it.  Pa  '11  larrup  you  good  when  he  gets 
back!" 

Nathan  hurriedly  pulled  the  calf's  legs  free  from  the  fence, 
and  then  tried  to  coax  the  animal  to  its  feet;  but  the  effort  was 
of  no  use.  Bossy  was  discouraged;  he  sullenly  refused  to  stand 
up,  but  putting  his  nose  to  the  ground  grunted  as  if  the  breath 
had  been  knocked  out  of  him. 

Seeing  at  last  that  his  efforts  availed  nothing,  Nathan  re- 
turned again  to  the  wood-pile  and  set  remorsefully  about  his 
task.  When  conscience  hurt  him  worst  he  always  soothed  it 
by  working  harder  than  ever. 

After  a  while  he  lifted  a  long,  hard  hickory  pole  upon  the 


A  SATURDAY'S  TASK.  2$ 

saw-buck,  but  found  that  it  would  not  balance,  teetering  up  and 
down  so  it  was  impossible  to  use  the  saw.  When  numerous 
exasperating  efforts  to  conquer  the  thing  had  been  tried,  he 
propped  up  the  long  end  of  the  pole  with  a  stick  of  stove-wood, 
and  the  difficulty  seemed  to  be  mastered.  But  by  this  time  all 
the  "set"  had  been  taken  out  of  the  saw,  and  it  could  scarcely 
be  drawn  through  the  wood.  Finally  in  an  angry  attempt  to 
jerk  it  through,  the  prop  under  the  pole  fell  down;  this  caught 
the  saw-blade  against  the  side  of  the  buck  and  snapped  it 
in  two. 

Surely  it  was  a  day  of  calamity!  It  seemed  that  every- 
thing combined  to  get  the  boy  into  trouble.  He  gazed  at  the 
broken  saw  in  despair,  and  ruefully  went  to  show  it  to  his  mother 
and  explain  how  it  happened. 

Kind  as  they  were,  there  was  Uttle  comfort  to  the  afflicted 
boy  in  her  motherly  words  and  at  last  he  returned  to  the  lot, 
where  he  and  William  took  turn  about  hacking  at  their  task 
with  the  ax.  This  was  hard,  slow  work;  the  ax  was  both  heavy 
and  dull,  so  presently  they  quit  the  wearisome  job,  slipped 

- 

away  to  the  barn,  climbed  over  the  back  fence  and  went  to  seek 
more  interesting  employment.  It  was  not  long  before  they 
came  across  Dick  Patterson,  one  of  their  schoolmates  with 
whom  William  played  a  game  of  "keeps."  Dick  was  a  past 
master  at  that  kind  of  sport,  and  quickly  won  every  marble 
William  had.  Even  his  favorite  "taw"  had  been  forfeited,  but 
Dick  generously  allowed  him  to  retain  this  on  condition  that 
he  would  pay  interest  in  the  shape  of  a  glass  marble  the  next 
time  he  got  a  new  supply. 


26  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

t 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  they  returned  home,  fur- 
tively entering  the  lot  in  the  same  manner  they  had  gone;  for 
it  must  be  known  that  the  Parson  never  allowed  them  to  wan- 
der from  the  parsonage  premises  when  he  was  at  home.  They 
got  back  in  time  to  help  their  mother  do  the  milking,  it  being 
their  part  to  pull  off  the  calf  and  halter  him  when  he  had  got 
a  fair  share  of  supper:  and  Nathan  was  greatly  rejoiced  to  find 
that  the  unruly  brute  had  not  really  suffered  any  serious  injury 
in  its  fall.  After  supper  they  greased  their  shoes,  took  a  bath 
and  went  to  bed,  where  in  a  short  time  all  the  troubles  and 
vexations  of  that  eventful  Saturday  were  forgotten  in  a  maze 
of  dreams. 


CHAPTER  II. 
"LAYING  UP  MORE  WRATH." 

SUNDAY  morning  dawned  with  a  flood  of  golden  June 
sunshine.     Everywhere  was  a  Sabbath  stillness;  not  a 
wandering  breeze  stirred   the  leaves,  but  a  delicious 
languor  wrapped  Nature,  which  seemed   reluctant  to 
be  roused  from  its  final  beauty  nap.     Earth  was  weltering  in  a 
bath  of  dew ;  and  when  the  warm  sunshine  spilled  over  an  eastern 
hilltop  and  ran  down  its  side,  every  grass-blade  was  fringed 
with  diamonds,  and  the  sweet  morning-glories  gurgled  liquid 
pearls  in  their  delicate  white  throats. 

The  Parson  was  ever  given  to  early  rising,  and  had  trained 
his  family  to  the  same  thrifty  habit.  So  Mrs.  Flint  was  up 
betimes,  watching  the  light  grow  and  glow  as  she  went  about 
her  morning  work,  singing  the  while  an  old-fashioned  Meth- 
odist  hymn. 

Tired  out  with  their  previous  day's  work,  the  boys  slept 
as  if  their  eyelids  had  grown  together.  Mrs.  Flint  seemed  to 
know  how  delightful  early  morning  sleep  is  to  growing  youths, 
so  she  did  not  disturb  them  until  breakfast  was  nearly  ready. 
"Wake  up,  my  boys!"  she  called  cheerily  at  their  bedroom 
door;  "I'm  going  to  bake  you  some  nice  pan-cakes,  and  you 
must  be  ready  to  eat  them  while  they  are  good  and  hot." 

27 


28  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

The  boys  were  always  hungry,  but  nothing  less  tempting 
than  pan-cakes  could  have  stirred  them  just  then.  They  crawled 
slowly  out  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  rubbing  their  sleepy 
eyes  and  yawning  with  many  gasps  and  grunts.  Finally  putting 
on  shirts  and  trousers  they  got  a  wash-pan,  soap  and  towel 
from  the  kitchen,  went  out  to  the  cistern,  and  there  sat  down 
on  the  platform  to  rest. 

Near  by  was  a  "Dominicker"  pullet  with  sun-burned  skin, 
having  no  feathers  to  speak  of  save  on  its  neck,  wings  and  tail. 
It  was  jumping  up  and  pecking  at  flies  that  basked  in  the 
sunshine  on  the  side  of  the  house;  but  the  insects  were  wary, 
and,  after  missing  a  number,  the  chicken  gave  up  the  attempt, 
shook  its  head,  poked  one  leg  put  behind  and  stretched  a  scantily 
covered  wing  down  over  it,  at  the  same  time  gaping  prodig- 
iously. The  example  was  wonderfully  contagious,  and  the  boys 
promptly  imitated  it.  Old  Tabby  came  through  the  lot  gate 
from  the  barn,  carrying  a  fat  mouse  and  uttering  a  smothered 
"maow"  to  her  numerous  family,  that  with  tails  up  came  racing 
from  every  direction. 

The  sunshine  was  deliciously  soothing,  and  everything  was 
so  still  that  William  leaned  back  against  the  cistern  curb,  closed 
his  eyes  and  came  near  falling  asleep  once  more.  But  as  he 
fetched  a  jaw-cracking  yawn,  Nathan  suddenly  stuck  a  corner 
of  the  cake  of  soap  in  his  mouth,  and  in  turn  got  a  crack  over 
his  own  head  with  the  wash-pan. 

Mrs.  Flint's  voice  stopped  this  sky-larking.  "Hurry  along, 
boys,"  she  called  to  them.  "Breakfast  is  on  the  table." 

At  this  they  sprang  up,  dashed  water  over  their  heads  and 


Sat  Down  on  the  Platform  to  Rest. 


LAYING  UP  MORE  WRATH.  29 

faces,  gave  their  front  hair  a  stroke  or  two  with  the  comb  and 
hastened  eagerly  to  the  feast  they  knew  to  be  awaiting  them. 
Mother's  pan-cakes  were  always  delicious,  and  the  hungry  boys 
ate  as  long  as  possible.     It  was  not  worth  while  to  stop,  even 
when  Ruth,  their  youngest  sister  made  sarcastic  remarks  about 
the  tangles  they  had  been  too  lazy  to  comb  out  of  their  hair. 
When  breakfast  had  been  despatched,  they  returned  to  their 
bed-room  and  donned  their  Sunday  clothes,  heartily  wishing 
that   they  could    dispense   with   shoes  on   such    a   warm   day. 
Then  after  submitting  to  have  Eunice,  the  oldest  sister,  comb 
their  hair  properly,  they  sat  down  to  learn  a  les- 
son in  the  catechism.    This  was  a  task  concerning 
which    the    Parson    was    very    strict    on    Sunday. 
Nathan  acted  as  questioner  and  William  tried  to 
answer  him. 

"Who  made  yOU?"  CATECHISM. 

"God,"  replied  William  promptly. 

"What  is  God?"  Nathan  continued. 

"An  unkerrated  (uncreated)  sperret,"  William  responded. 
Then  without  waiting  for  further  questions  he  asked : 

"Say,  Nathan,  what  is  a  sperret?    Is  it  a  ghost?" 

"I  dunno,"  Nathan  replied;  "but  the  book  says  God's  one. 
I  wonder  what  He  looks  like!" 

"I  know,"  William  rejoined,  proud  to  settle  at  least 
one  puzzle  for  his  older  brother.  "He  looks  like  Uncle 
Tommy." 

"Shucks!"  sneered  Nathan  loftily.  "You  ain't  got  half 
gumption.  What  do  you  know  about  how  God  looks?" 


30  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"Jist  looky  here,"  said  William  indignantly,  picking  up 
"The  Singing  Pilgrim,"  their  Sunday-school  hymn  book  and 
pointing  to  the  back  of  it.  "Here  's  a  picture  of  God  settin'  on 
His  throne  with  a  ring  above  His  head,  and  all  the  angels  flyin' 
around  like  'skeeters.  Do  n't  that  look  like  Uncle  Tommy, 
now?" 

"Suppose  it  does,"  returned  Nathan  stubbornly.  "I  don't 
believe  God  looks  like  that.  Who  took  His  picture?" 

This  shrewd  question  was  a  poser  for  William;  but  he  was 
the  Parson's  son,  and  already  quick  to  defend  his  cherished 
theology.  With  final  and  lofty  rebuke  he  said: 

"Ye  see  the  picture,  do  n't  ye?  I  guess  the  men  what  made 
the  book  knowed  more  about  God  than  you  do.  You  never 
seen  God." 

Before  such  argument  as  this  it  was  Nathan's  turn  to  feel 
worsted.  He  made  no  reply,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  musing 
they  went  on  with  their  catechism  until  Mrs.  Flint  entered  the 
room,  ready  for  Sunday  services.  It  was  not  the  Parson's  day 
to  preach  in  town,  and  on  such  vacant  Sabbaths  "class-meeting" 
was  held  instead. 

When  Mrs.  Flint  and  the  boys  entered  the  somber  old 
church  it  was  almost  time  for  the  services  to  begin.  The  urchins 
followed  their  mother  up  to  the  front,  where  all  three  sat  down 
in  the  "amen  corner,1'  as  the  seats  on  each  side  of  the  pulpit 
were  called  in  the  Parson's  family.  Thirty  or  forty  people  were 
present,  all  staid,  somewhat  elderly,  and  sitting  in  decorous 
silence.  Besides  themselves  no  other  young  people  were  there, 
and  the  boys  felt  rather  lonesome. 


LAYING  UP  MORE  WRATH. 


As  ten  o'clock  struck,  a  grave,  white-headed  brother 
who  was  known  as  the  "Class-leader"  arose,  put  on  his 
spectacles  and  opened  the  big  Bible.  Then  in  a  solemn 
but  earnest  voice  he  read  the  chapter  from  St.  John's 
Gospel, — "Let  not  your  hearts  be  troubled."  Following 
this  reading  he  lined  out  a  hymn, 

"How  tedious  and  tasteless  the  hours 
When  Jesus  no  longer  I  see." 


This  being  sung,  the  leader  asked  all  to  kneel  in 
prayer,  and  in  pleading  voice  he  called  down  the  bless- 
ing of  the  Lord  upon  the  little  flock  committed  to  his  care  and 
counsels. 

During  this  somewhat  lengthy  exercise  the  boys  grew  quite 
tired  of  the  hard  floor,  but  at  last  the  brother  reached  his 
"amen,"  and  the  kneeling  group  again  seated  themselves,  a 
few  minutes  of  impressive  silence  following.  Then  the  old 
class-leader  stood  up  and  began  to  give  in  his  personal  expe- 
rience. 

"Brethren  and  sistern,"  he  said  with  a  deep  sigh,  "it  is  now 
goin'  on  forty  years  since  I  give  my  heart  to  the  Lord  and  felt 
his  savin'  grace.  My  pathway  has  not  all  been  strowed  with 
roses,  and  sometimes  I  Ve  had  to  'rastle  mightily  with  the  Evil 
One.  My  one  regret  is  that  I  Ve  been  but  a  weak  and  feeble 
servant  in  the  Master's  vineyard.  It  is  owin'  to  the  boundless 
mercy  of  God  that  it  has  n't  been  said  of  me  as  it  was  of  the 
barren  fig-tree, — 'cut  it  down,  why  cumbereth  it  the  ground!' 
But  though  my  sins  hev  been  many,  the  mercy  of  the  Lord 
endureth  forever;  and  by  the  grace  of  God  I  shall  yet  triumph 


LET    NOT    YOUR 
HEARTS   BE 
TROUBLED." 


32  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

over  sin,  sorrer  and  Satan,  and  land  my  bark  safe  on  the  happy 
shores  of  Canaan.  Do  n't  fergit  me  when  y'  kneel  at  a  throne 
of  grace." 

A  sympathetic  murmur  went  up  from  the  devout  listeners, 
and  all  received  the  speaker's  words  with  hearty  good-will  and 
approval.  After  wiping  a  tear  from  his  eye,  the  class-leader 
then  walked  up  to  a  brother  sitting  in  front  of  him  and  said 
kindly: 

"Brother  Snedecor,  can  you  tell  us  this  morning  what  great 
things  the  Lord  has  done  for  your  soul?" 

The  brother  thus  addressed  arose,  and  in  a  constrained 
manner  recited  his  many  hopes,  fears  and  short-comings,  say- 
ing that  he  felt  himself  to  be  very  unworthy  and  imperfect,  but 
was  nevertheless  determined  to  fight  the  good  fight  of  faith, 
and  at  last  wear  a  crown  of  glory  at  God's  right  hand. 

When  he  had  sat  down,  the  leader  spbke  a  few  words  of 
pious  encouragement  to  him,  afterwards  passing  on  to  the  next 
member. 

Now  the  boys  had  long  been  familiar  with  class-meeting 
exercises,  and  in  most  instances  they  could  tell  pretty  nearly 
what  each  member  of  the  group  would  say.  So  as  the  routine 
progressed,  William  ceased  to  be  very  greatly  interested,  and 
became  quite  restless.  He  squirmed  about  on  the  seat,  relieved 
several  itching  places  on  his  nervous  body,  and  finally  began  to 
amuse  himself  by  indenting  the  top  of  the  pew  in  front  of  him 
with  his  teeth,  afterwards  counting  the  marks  thus  made. 

But  for  some  reason  that  did  not  appear,  Nathan  remained 
solemn  and  upright  in  his  seat.  A  pious  purpose  was  working 


LAYING  UP  MORE  WRATH.  33 

in  his  rnind,  and  it  made  his  heart  thump  with  great  fear,  which. 
seemed  to  grow  upon  him  as  the  class-leader  came  closer  to 
where  he  was  seated.  Mrs.  Flint  was  the  last  of  his  flock  to 
whom  the  good  old  man  addressed  himself.  She  spoke  briefly 
and  sat  down.  When  the  leader  had  given  her  his  usual  words 
of  advice  he  stepped  before  the  two  boys  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
fatherly  interest: 

"My  sons,  can't  you  say  a  word  for  the  Lord  this  morn- 
ing? Youth  is  the  time  to  give  your  hearts  to  God." 

William  was  greatly  abashed,  and  sat  far  down  on  the 
small  of  his  back,  gnawing  at  his  handkerchief  which  he  had 
rolled  into  a  ball  and  held  tightly  in  a  fist.  But  to  his  unutter- 
able stupefaction  and  fright  Nathan  arose  in  his  place,  took 
a  desperate  grip  upon  the  top  of  the  pew  in  front,  swayed 
feebly  back  and  forth,  and  said: 

"Brethren  and  sistern,  I-feel-t'-say  this  morning'-that  I  'm 
thankful-t'-God-that-it  's-as-well-with-me-as-what-it-is.  I-know- 
I-often-do-many-things-I'd-ought-not-t'-do,  an'-leave-undone- 
many-things-I  'd-ought-to-do;  but-pray-fer-me-that-I-may-hold- 
out-faithful-an'-at-last-meet-you-all-on-'tother-shore!" 

Having  reeled  this  all  of!  in  a  breath,  and  in  a  shaking 
voice  that  died  out  to  a  whisper  and  gasp  toward  the  close,  he 
sank  limply  back  into  his  seat.  When  he  got  up  to  speak,  the 
eyes  of  all  present  were  turned  upon  him  in  pious  approval  and 
sympathy.  A  hearty  and  loud  "amen"  followed  his  words,  and 
the  class-leader  said  feelingly: 

"Praise  the  Lord,  my  son!  You've  taken  up  yer  cross  to 
follow  Him.  That 's  right.  The  Good  Book  says:  'Remember 


34  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth.'  May  the  Lord  bless 
and  keep  you  forHis name's  sake.  Go  on  in  the  good  way,  and 
you  shall  find  reward  at  last." 

Then  a  tearful  sister  started  in  a  high,  cracked  voice  the 
well-known  hymn,— 

"From  every  stormy  wind  that  blows." 

William  sat  open-mouthed  and  stunned,  while  Nathan  was 
quite  overcome  until  Mrs.  Flint  reached  out  a  tender  arm  and 
clasped  him,  weak  and  trembling,  to  her  side. 

A  final  earnest  prayer  followed,  sprinkled  with  loud 
"amens"  and  other  pious  ejaculations  from  many  lips;  then 
the  meeting  was  over,  and  the  gathering  dispersed.  The  boys 
returned  to  the  parsonage  with  their  mother,  Nathan  very  sober, 
and  William  feeling  deeply  awed  in  the  presence  of  his  sud- 
denly pious  brother.  It  might  be,  however,  that  the  dead 
rooster  and  the  broken  saw  had  something  to  do  with  Nathan's 
remarkable  and  unexpected  attack  of  religion. 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  house,  Nathan's  heart 
had  got  down  out  of  his  throat  into  its  proper  place  again,  and 
some  of  his  scare  had  left  him.  Yet  the  solemnity  of  the  step 
he  had  taken  still  bore  heavily  upon  his  spirits.  To  feed  his 
pious  cravings,  he  went  to  the  Parson's  library  and  picked  out 
"Deathbed  Scenes,"  which  he  sat  down  to  read.  William 
watched  him  with  wondering  eyes,  and  lying  down  on  the  floor 
at  a  little  distance  tried  hard  to  attract  his  attention  by  sundry 
grunts  and  sotto  roce  remarks.  But  it  was  all  of  no  use;  the 
reader's  thought  was  wrapped  in  mournful  contemplation,  and 
he  refused  to  listen.  Finally  William  became  discouraged, 


LAYING  UP  MORE  WRATH.  35 

turned  over  on  his  stomach,  and  began  to  sing  in  a  doleful 
voice,— 

"How  tejis  an'  tas'eless  the  hours!" 

The  situation  became  dreadfully  strained,  and  it  is  doubt- 
ful how  long  either  urchin  could  have  endured  it;  but  at  last 
the  spell  was  broken  by  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Flint,  calling  them 
to  dinner. 

The  slaughtered  rooster  had  been  cooking  since  early 
morning,  and  was  as  tender  as  a  peach.  When  the  boys  took 
their  places  at  the  table,  the  savory  mess  smote  their  nostrils 
with  great  joy,  and  they  almost  ceased  to  regret  the  untimely 
death  of  the  fowl.  So  good  was  it  that  Nathan  passed  his  plate 
for  a  third  helping,  asking  for  "a  drum-stick 
this  time."  Then  Louise,  who  had  been 
watching  him  with  critical  eyes  for  some  //fi£Ko&^&® 
minutes,  spoke  tartly,  saying: 

"I  should  think  you  'd  choke  on  it, 
you  little  wretch.  If  I  'd  killed  the  poor 
thing  as  you  did,  I  could  n't  eat  a 
mouthful." 

Her  tone  was  intensely  provoking,  and  it  so  angered 
Nathan  that  he  forgot  all  about  his  class-meeting  testimony, 
and  fell  from  grace.  Puckering  up  his  countenance  into  a 
horrible  grimace,  he  stuck  out  his  tongue  at  Louise  and 
said,  "Yah,  yah,  yah,  yah,"  for  wrhich  she  promptly  slapped 
him. 

Nathan  choked  and  spluttered  with  rage,  and  was  about 
to  strike  back,  but  the  voice  of  his  mother  made  him  drop  his 


36  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

raised  hand.  He  looked  savagely  at  Louise,  however,  and  said 
threateningly: 

"Smarty !    I  '11  get  even  with  you  fer  that!    See  if  I  do  n't!" 

The  provocation  was  certainly  great;  but  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  when  Nathan  realized  what  he  had  done,  conscience 
hurt  him  sorely.  For  a  long  time  he  felt  very  miserable,  and 
was  the  more  aggrieved  at  the  uppish  Louise  that  she  had 
caused  him  so  soon  to  backslide. 

The  dull  Sunday  afternoon  wore  away  at  last,  having  no 
further  incident  to  mar  the  peace  that  belonged  to  it.  When 
dusk  fell,  two  young  men  called  to  spend  the  evening  with 
Eunice  and  Louise.  The  girls  met  them  with  smiling  cordial- 
ity, and  ushered  them  into  the  parlor. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  boys  went  to  bed,  but  for  a 
long  time  sleep  refused  to  come.  After  tumbling  about  for 
an  hour  Nathan  crept  out  of  bed  and  quietly  pulled  on  his 
trousers. 

"Whachu  goin'  to  do?"  whispered  William. 

"Never  you  mind,"  was  the  surly  reply.  "I  'm  a-goin'  to 
show  Louise  that  she  can't  pound  me  over  the  head  every  time 
she  wants  to." 

"I  'm  goin'  along,"  exclaimed  William,  jumping  up  to 
put  on  his  clothes. 

They  crept  softly  down  stairs  into  the  kitchen  and  pur- 
loined the  big  dish-pan.  Then  sneaking  out  with  it  to  the 
wood-pile,  Nathan  found  a  pole  six  feet  in  length  and  about 
three  inches  thick.  Noiselessly  making  their  way  to  the  front 
door,  the  urchins  perched  the  pan  on  top  the  pole  and  leaned 


LAYING  UP  MORE  WRATH. 


37 


it  against  the  door,  so  that  when  the  visitors  left,  the  pan  and 
pole  together  would  fall  into  the  house. 

Having   fixed   this    nasty   trap    to    their   satisfaction,    the 
wicked  boys  slipped  back  up  stairs  to  bed,  chuckling  in  glee 
as  they  imagined  the  surprise  waiting  for  the  girls  a  little  later. 
In  order  to  enjoy  it  to  the  full,  they  tried  to  keep  awake  until  ^ 
the  event  came  off,  but  as  time  passed  they  found  it  very  hard  '** 
work. 

About  half-past  teri  o'clock,  however,  they  were  brought 
out  of  a  doze  by  a  scream  from  Louise  and  a  loud  clatter  of 
the  dish-pan. 

"They  're  jist  goin'  away,"  whispered  William  excitedly. 
"I  wonder  what  they  thought  of  it!" 

"Mebbe  Louise  '11  ta'nt  me,  and  bang  me  over  the  head 
some  more,"  replied  Nathan,  sitting  up  to  listen. 

But  they  heard  nothing  more,  and  as  time  passed,  some- 
thow  the   trick  did  n't  seem   as  brilliant  as   they  had   at  first 
thought  it.    And  when  next  morning  Louise  appeared  at  break- 
fast with  eyes  red  and  swollen  from  hours  of  bitter  crying,  the 
thing  was  no  longer  funny. 

For  some  reason  breakfast  didn't  taste  good;  and  after 
enduring  the  reproachful  eyes  of  their  mother  as  long  as  they 
could,  the  culprits  betook  themselves  to  the  wood-pile,  where 
they  began  to  chop,  turn  about,  on  the  hardest  hickory  pole 
they  could  find. 


CHAPTER    III. 


FLEW  TO  OPEN 
THE  GATE. 


'THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME." 

THE  boys  worked  like  beavers  until 
eleven  o'clock,  though  the  sun  grew 
very  hot.  Their  industry  was  a  desper- 
ate attempt  to  atone  in  some  measure 
for  their  sins,  and  the  time  was  growing 
short.  But,  by  picking  out  small  sticks 
they  got  along  quite  fast,  and  made  large 
additions  to  the  ancient  chip-pile, — that  ugly  monument  of  their 
numberless  trials  and  sorrows.  The  stack  of  stove-wood  be- 
came a  high  heap,  and  was  still  rapidly  growing,  when  in  a  low 
voice  William  suddenly  exclaimed: 
"Yonder  comes  the  Tostle!" 

Nathan  quickly  straightened  up  to  look,  and  about  thirty 
rods  down  the  dusty  road  he  saw  the  old  bay  horse  coming 
along  with  a  gait  between  a  fast  walk  and  slow  trot.  The 
Apostle  was  dangling  the  reins  in  his  left  hand,  while  the 
right  held  the  stub  of  a  switch  with  which  he  constantly 
pecked  at  the  old  horse's  withers.  Every  two  or  three  rods 
this  pecking  was  aided  by  a  few  sharp  clucks,  which  the  boys 
imagined  they  could  hear,  even  at  that  distance.  The  rider's 
crooked  elbows  rose  and  fell  with  every  jog  of  the  horse,  as 

38 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME:  39 

if  he  might  be  practicing  the  motions  of  flying  in  order  to  save 
future  time. 

As  the  Parson  rode  up,  Nathan  flew  to  open  the  gate, 
and  tried  to  appear  greatly  rejoiced  at  the  home-coming;  but 
do  the  very  best  he  could,  he  was  only  able  to  screw  his  face 
into  a  look  of  adoring  apprehension.  Without  speaking  the 
Apostle  rode  into  the  lot,  and  immediately  cast  his  eyes  upon 
the  fruits  of  the  boys'  industry.  He  was  surprised:  the  rigid 
lines  in  his  face  quite  relaxed,  and  in  a  jolly,  approving  voice 
he  exclaimed:  "Hooray  me  brave  boys!  I  tell  ye  what,  this 
looks  as  if  somethin'  was  comin'  to  pass!" 

But  alas,  this  was  what  the  uneasy  boys  themselves  secretly 
thought,  "and  they  feared  that  the  coming  event  might  not  be 
pleasant!  The  Parson's  kindly  tones  sent  a  great  thrill  of  de- 
light through  their  hearts  and  down  their  spines,  but  it  was 
quickly  changed  to  a  feeling  of  remorse  and  dread. 

However  the  Parson  really  had  cause  for  unwonted  goo<jl- 
humor.  It  had  been  "Quarterly  Meeting  Sabbath," — one  of 
those  oases  in  the  desert  of  a  Methodist  preacher's  year,  when 
a  portion  of  his  usually  meager  salary  is  paid  in.  On  this  occa- 
sion he  had  received  a  goodly  amount  of  "quarterage,"  and 
had  the  promise  of  more  to  follow  soon. 

Dismounting  stiffly,  and  with  a  touch  of  lumbago,  he  un- 
buckled the  well-worn  saddle-bags  and  threw  them  across  his 
arm.  One  side  held  his  Bible  and  hymn-book,  together  with 
sundry  articles  of  clothing;  the  other  contained  a  mess  of 
lamb's-quarter  greens,  which  some  well-disposed  sister  had  done 
up  neatly  in  a  newspaper  and  sent  to  Mrs.  Flint. 


4o  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

As  Nathan  started  with  the  tired  horse  to  the  barn  the 
Apostle  called  after  him  to  say: 

"Teck  the  saddle  off 'n  him,  and  see  if  he'll  drink;  then 
put  him  in  the  stall  an'  give  him  ten  yeers  of  corn  with  plenty 
of  hay." 

It  was  at  all  times  the  Parson's  habit  to  give  minute  in- 
structions when  he  required  anything  of  the  boys. 

"All  right,  I  '11  tend  to  him,"  said  Nathan  obediently. 
Then  followed  by  William  he  led  the  animal  away  to  the  barn. 
This  building  stood  at  the  far  end  of  the  lot  on  a  slight  rise  of 
ground.  -  Beyond  it  was  a  copse,  part  of  a  woods-pasture  be- 
longing to  a  neighbor.  As  Nathan  removed  the  saddle,  Wil- 
liam put  him  a  question  which  he  was  secretly  anxious  to  have 
settled : 

"D  'ye  think  he  '11  give  us  a  lickin'?" 

"I  bet  he  will  when  he  learns  about  that  rooster,"  replied 
Nathan  gloomily. 

Then  as  the  aggravation  of  it  impressed  him,  he  ex- 
claimed, "Dag-gon  the  luck!  What  did  the  old  idiot  pull  his 
head  out  of  that  hole  for  jist  at  the  wrong  time?" 

William  had  no  time  to  speculate  on  this  puzzling  prob- 
lem; the  horse  wanted  to  take  a  roll  in  the  dirt.  Leading  him 
out  of  the  shed,  Nathan  held  his  halter,  and  Daniel  squatted 
in  a  -heap,  dropping  stiffly  on  his  side.  Then  he  wallowed 
about,  trying  to  turn  over,  the  while  kicking  his  bony  old  legs 
in  the  air,  and  groaning  as  if  tortured  with  rheumatism.  Yet 
he  really  enjoyed  the  exercise  immensely,  and  kept  at  it  so  long 
that  William  grew  tired  of  waiting,  and  hit  him  a  resounding 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME.  41 

crack  on  the  forehead  with  a  cob.  This  brought  him  quickly 
to  his  feet,  and  after  allowing  him  to  drink,  Nathan  led  him 
into  a  stall.  Here  the  old  fellow  seemed  to  think  his  weekly 
troubles  were  over,  and  blew  out  a  long  sigh  of  rest  and  satis- 
faction. 

"But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread,"  and  previous  ex- 
perience might  have  taught  the  old  charger  to  expect  more 
difficulties.  When  Nathan  had  tied  him  securely  to  the  manger 
rail,  that  wicked  youth  reached  slyly  around  and  prodded  the 
unsuspecting  brute  in  the  short  ribs.  With  a  wince,  Daniel 
laid  back  his  ears  and  made  a  savage  snap  at  his  tormentor's 
arm;  but  the  boy  was  looking  out  for  this,  and  met  the  fierce 
attempt  with  a  vigorous  slap  on  the  animal's  nose,  which  caused 
him  to  lunge  to  the  further  side  of  the  stall,  and  snort  with  vast 
indignation. 

William  now  joined  in  the  attack,  and  began  to  tickle  the 
angry  old  fellow  with  a  switch,  making  him  writhe,  shake  his 
skin  and  look  furious.  Presently  in  desperation  he  delivered 
a  kick  that  knocked  the  instrument  of  torture  out  of  his  enemy's 
hand;  but  just  then  Nathan  appeared  on  the  other  side,  and  had 
sharpened  the  end  of  his  prod.  The  victim  of  this  unkind 
treatment  became  greatly  enraged.  He  pawed  furiously, 
switched  his  long  tail,  and  shook  his  head  as  if  a  cloud  o'f  gad- 
flies were  after  him.  In  his  vigorous  efforts  it  finally  happened 
that  he  plunged  one  forefoot  over  the  manger-rail,  where  it 
was  caught  and  held  fast  by  the  calks  of  his  shoe.  At  this  he 
struggled  noisily,  and  was  in  great  danger  of  doing  himself 
some  serious  injury. 


42  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

The  wicked  boys  were  by  this  time  as  badly  scared  as  the 
horse,  and  they  began  to  agonize,  lest  the  Parson  might  hear 
the  racket  and  make  his  appearance  before  they  could  set  things 
right.  After  trying  several  times  to  release  himself,  Daniel 
paused  a  second  to  take  breath.  Nathan  promptly  grabbed 
the  hoof  and  lifted  it  clear  of  the  rail.  Daniel  gave  a  quick 
jerk,  catching  the  urchin's  knuckle  against  the  manger-top,  and 
peeling  off  a  large  flake  of  skin.  He  clapped  the  wounded 
member  into  his  mouth  with  a  grunt,  but  just  then  was  struck 
chilly  by  the  sight  of  the  Parson's  frigid  face  at  the  stable  door. 
Glaring  at  the  two  young  rascals  sternly  for  a  few  minutes, 
the  angry  observer  stepped  in  and  rasped  out: 

"What  on  earth  possesses  ye  to  always  be  a-wantin'  to 
torment  somethin'?  H'ain't  the  old  horse  hed  enough  to  do 
without  that?" 

Then  nervously  opening  and  shutting  his  hands  several 
times  he  added  with  sharp  menace,  "Move  yerselves  out  of 
here,  'fore  I  'frail  ye!" 

The  abashed  culprits  had  no  excuse  to  offer  for  their  mis- 
conduct, and  upon  being  ordered  out,  sneaked  furtively  by  the 
Parson,  expecting  to  feel  the  palms  of  his  twitching  hands  on 
the  sides  of  their  heads.  But  upon  emerging  from  the  stable 
door  they  perceived  the  reason  for  his  unusual  forbearance. 
Brother  Ratcliffe,  a  jovial  old  farmer  at  whose  house  William 
first  ate  "manarvelins,"  had  arrived  with  a  wagon  load  of  corn, 
and  was  halting  just  beyond  the  lot-gate.  This  timely  incident 
meant  respite  for  a  few  more  hours.  The  boys  knew  that  the 
final  "reckoning"  as  the  Parson  called  it  would  be  postponed 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME. 


43 


until  this  visitor  had  gone  home.    It  was  most  unexpected  good- 
luck,  and  their  spirits  rose  once  more. 

"  'Light!  'light,  Brother  Ratcliffe,"  called  the  Parson  in 
far  sweeter  tones  than  he  had  last  used  to  the  boys.  "How  do 
you  do,  and  how  is  Sister  Ratcliffe  to-day?" 

"Oh,  fair  to  middlin',  Brother  Flint;  how  are  you  and 
yourn  gettin'  along?"  was  the  reply. 

"Nothin'  to  complain  of,  I  believe,"  returned  the  Apostle. 
"Drive  in,"  he  added,  opening  the  lot  gate: 

"Skik,  skik!"  ducked  the  farmer.     "Git  up  there,  Bally!" 
And  at  the  same  time  he  brought  a  long  hickory  down  upon 
the  back  of  an  ugly,  big-footed  horse,  whose  head  was  hung    S 
low  in  an  attitude  of  utter  de- 
jection.   Awakened  by  the  sting  ^-» 
of  the  gad,  Bally  lifted  his  neck 
and    began    to    lean    forward, 
which  action  seemed  to  lengthen 
him  greatly.     Meanwhile  a  sauty 
looking   mule — the   second   mem- 
ber of  the  team — stepped  off  minc- 
ingly,  and  the  wagon  rolled  into  the  lot.  "SKIK>  SKIK!   GlT  Up-  BALLY-" 

Brother  Radcliffe  now  alighted  from  his  wagon,  and  in  the 
whole-souled  fashion  of  a  happy  farmer  greeted  the  Parson. 
Then  the  latter  called  the  boys,  who  had  lingered  in  the  shed 
at  the  barn.  The  visitor's  powerful  grip  made  their  fingers 
tingle,  but  they  did  n't  mind  this,  being  sure  the  Parson  had 
some  work  for  them. 

"You  git  into  the  crib,"  said  the  Apostle,  "and  throw  all 


44  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

the  white  corn  up  to  the  front,  and  the  yeller  yeers  to  the  back- 
waiting  to  hear  no  more  the  boys  jumped  to  obey,  but  the  Parson 
stopped  them:— 

"Here!    Say,  will  ye  wait  till  I  'm  done?" 

"Yes-sur,"  was  the  subdued  reply. 

"When  ye  Ve  got  the  corn  throwed  to  its  place,  git  a  rake 
and  clean  out  all  the  shucks;  put  'em  into  the  manger  fer  the 
horse  to  pick  at,  and  then  see  how  much  of  this  load  ye  kin 
throw  into  the  crib  by  the  time  we  git  back." 

When  these  minute  instructions  had  been  delivered,  Brother 
RatclifTe  drove  the  wagon  under  the  opening  of  the  bin,  put 
on  the  brakes,  and  with  the  Parson  went  down  town. 

To  the  boys  this  was  a  chance  for  an  hour's  unmixed  fun. 
In  a  jiffy  they  were  in  the  crib,  pelting  each  other  with  nubbins 
and  making  the  corn  fairly  fly.  While  cleaning  out  the  shucks 
they  uncovered  several  mice's  nests,  and  William  raced  away  to 
borrow  a  bench-legged  ratter,  owned  by  one  of  their  neighbors; 
this  lively  animal  made  short  work  of  the  thieves  in  the  Parson's 
barn.  By  the  time  Brother  Radcliffe  and  the  Parson  got  back, 
a  large  part  of  the  wagon-load  had  been  cribbed,  and  with  a 
scoop-shovel  the  farmer  quickly  threw  in  the  balance.  A  bag 
of  luscious  June  apples,  hidden  in  the  load  greatly  rejoiced  the 
boys.  When  visitors  came  they  were  always  required  to  wait 
second  table,  and  so  they  planned  a  raid  on  this  fruit  while  the 
rest  of  the  family  were  eating  dinner. 

Brother  Ratcliffe  drove  the  empty  wagon  around  to  the 
front  of  the  barn,  where  he  unhooked  and  left  it  standing  upon 
the  side  of  the  sloping  ground,  near  the  garden  fence.  The 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME.  45 

Apostle  took  Daniel  out  of  his  stall,  put  in  the  visitor's  team 
and  gave  them  a  liberal  bak  of  corn.  He  tied  Daniel  to  one 
of  the  front  wheels  of  the  empty  wagon,  and  threw  some  hay  into 
the  bed  for  him  to  nibble  at.  But  the  horse  merely  tossed  the 
hay  about  with  his  nose,  being  desirous  of  getting  at  the  shat- 
tered corn  that  lay  on  the  bottom  beneath  it. 

When  the  Parson  and  his  visitor  had  gone  into  the  parson- 
age, the  boys  went  to  the  smoke-house  and  picked  out  two  large 
apples,  with- which  they  returned  to  the  lot  and  climbed  into  the 
wagon.  Nathan  put  the  seat-board  across  the  back  end  of  the 
bed,  and  the  two  urchins  perched  themselves  upon  it  to  enjoy 
themselves  while  there  was  yet  time. 

While  gnawing  at  his  apple,  Nathan  picked  up  some  grains 
of  corn  and  shot  one  at  the  horse.  Daniel  had  his  nose  buried 
in  the  hay;  he  was  licking  up  the  shattered  corn  lazily,  perhaps 
enjoying  it  more  because  he  could  get  so  little  at  a  time.  William 
saw  Nathan  shoot  the  kernel  with  his  thumb,  and  exclaimed 
meaningly: 

"Wait  till  I  get  our  snap-guns!" 

With  this  he  sprang  over  the  end  of  the  wagon  and  scudded 
into  the  barn,  quickly  returning  with  two  stiff  pieces  of  whale- 
bone, which  had  doubtless  been  filched  from  one  of  his  sisters. 
Each  now  took  one  of  these  instruments  and  began  a  siege  upon 
the  old  horse. 

Meantime  dinner  had  been  served.  Brother  Ratcliffe  and 
the  family,  with  the  exception  of  Ruth,  the  youngest  girl,  sat 
down  to  eat.  It  was  Ruth's  duty  to  keep  flies  from  the  table  by 
means  of  a  peach-tree  bough,  whose  pendant  leaves  made  a 


46  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

very  good  brush.  When  all  were  seated  a  solemn  pause  ensued ; 
then  the  Parson  looked  at  his  guest  and  said: 

"Brother  RatclifTe." 

The  brother  understood.  He  bowed  his  shaggy  head  and 
asked  a  most  fervent  blessing  upon  the  meal,  to  which  the  Parson 
responded  with  a  deep  "Amen!"  Then  seizing  a  large  buck- 
horn  handled  knife  and  fork,  he  proceeded  to  carve  a  lusty 
chicken  that  lay  before  him  in  a  ring  of  dumplings,  and  looked 
a  very  savory,  tempting  object. 

In  the  task  at  hand  the  Parson  was  a  born  artist.  He  knew 
to  a  hair  where  to  hunt  for  joints,  and  in  three  minutes  the 
young  cock  which  had  that  morning  been  making  hoarse  at- 
tempts to  crow  was  dismembered  and  scattered  to  the  four  cor- 
ners of  the  table. 

During  this  interim  Ruth's  briskly  swinging  fly-brush  had 
deposited  several  leaves  in  the  butter  and  gravy.  This  annoy- 
ance caused  Louise  to  go  into  the  back-yard  for  a  fresh  bough, 
and  while  there  she  spied  the  boys  shooting  corn  at  Daniel  and 
hugging  themselves  to  keep  from  laughing  too  loudly  at  his 
antics. 

In  those  days  Methodists  never  laid  aside  their  religion; 
so  as  the  meal  proceeded  it  was  enlivened  by  spiritual  conversa- 
tion, and  congratulatory  remarks  about  the  quarterly  meeting 
of  the  previous  day. 

"As  I  was  sayin',  Brother  RatclifTe,"  said  the  Parson,  "I  Ve 
seldom  seen  a  greater  outpouriiv  of  the  sperret  than  we  hed 
yisterday.  It  reminded  me  of  the  day  of  Pentecost,  when  the 
disciples  were  gethercd  together." 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME. 


47 


"About  three  sups,  sister,"  mumbled  the  brother,  handing 
his  coffee  cup  to  Mrs.  Flint,  and  shoveling  a  dumpling  into  his 
roomy  mouth.  "Yes,"  he  added,  in  reply  to  the  Parson's  remarks; 
"the  Lord  was  mighty  gracious,  and  on  the  givin'  hand.  We  'd 
orter  prostrate  ourselves  at  a  throne  of  grace  for  a  revival  in 
this  part  of  the  moral  heritage.  It 's  needed  bad." 

"Amen!  The  Lord  grant  it,"  responded  the  Parson,  fer- 
vently. 

Just  at  this  moment  there  was  a  sharp  rattling  of  the  wagon 
to  be  heard,  mingled  with  excited  shouts  from  the  boys.  The 
Parson  and  his  visitor  sprang  up  and  hurried  out  to  see  what 
had  happened. 

Upon  reaching  the  back 
porch,  they  saw  the  wagon  roll- 
ing down  hill.  Its  tongue,  held 
up  by  a  stick  thrust  under  the 
hounds,  was  wagging  about  in  a 
quick,  jerky  fashion,  and  the 
double-trees  were  whacking 
Daniel  viciously  on  the  legs.  Tied 
was  the  frightened  horse  was  plunging 


as  he 


SAW  THE  WAGON  ROLLING  DOWN  HILL. 

around  in  a  semi-circle,  and  with  every  turn  of  the  wheel  his 
head  bobbed  up  and  down.  Nathan  was  rushing  frantically 
about,  snatching  first  at  the  wagon-tongue  and  then  at  the  halter, 
while  William,  looking  as  if  the  crack  of  doom  had  sounded, 
tottered  to  and  fro  upon  the  seat. 

The  running  men  had  not  reached  the  lot,  when,  with  a 
sudden  swerve,  the  wagon  plunged  its  tongue  through  the  garden 


48  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

fence,  knocking  down  a  whole  panel,  and  scaring  Daniel  silly. 
He  gave  one  desperate  wrench  that  jerked  him  head  down  and 
turned  him  heels  up  on  his  back,  but  the  halter  strap  fortunately 
broke  in  time  to  save  his  neck.  Scrambling  up  he  looked  about 
in  a  dazed  manner,  and  then  careered  off  to  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  enclosure,  where,  facing  about,  he  uttered  a  loud  snort. 
Then,  with  elevated  tail,  he  trotted  gingerly  around,  seeking 
for  some  place  of  escape.  Nathan  quickly  caught  him,  however, 
and  while  leading  him  to  the  shed,  exclaimed  for  the  benefit  of 
the  astonished  Parson: 

"What 's  the  matter  with  ye,  y'  old  fool?  Ain't  ye  got  no 
sense?" 

Bqt  the  suspicious  Parson  was  not  to  be  greatly  misled  by 
such  an  artifice.  He  felt  morally  certain  that  some  trick  of  the 
boys  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair,  and  eyed  them  surlily. 
Not  knowing  what  to  conclude  just  then,  however,  he  pulled 
away  the  wagon  with  the  farmer's  help,  and  set  up  the  displaced 
panel  to  keep  the  calf  out  of  the  garden,  after  which  he  and  the 
visitor  went  back  to  finish  their  meal. 

"Was  the  horse  hurt  much?"  asked  Mrs.  Flint,  anxiously. 

"I  reck'n  not,"  replied  the  Parson,  gruffly.  "It's  a  thou- 
sand wonders  he  did  n't  break  his  neck,  though;  or  cripple  his- 
self  for  life.  I  do  n't  understand  what  ailed  him." 

"I  know,"  put  in  Louise,  quickly.  "Those  trifling  boys  were 
shooting  corn  into  his  ears  and  eyes  with  whale-bones  they  stole 
from  me;"  and  heedless  of  her  mother's  imploring  looks  she 
went  on  wrathfully,  "they  have  been  perfect  torments  ever  since 
you  went  away;  killing  the  chickens,  breaking  the  saw  and  dis- 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME.  49 

gracing  the  whole  family.     If  you  do  n't  take  them  in  hands 
pretty  soon,  there  '11  be  no  living  in  the  house  with  them." 

It  was  all  explained  now;  the  fright  of  the  boys,  the  acci- 
dent to  the  wagon,  and  the  urchins'  unusual  industry.  As  Louise 
rattled  off  her  story  the  Parson's  face  lengthened  gloomily.  But 
if  his  heart  grew  heavy,  his  stomach  remained  cheery,  and  when 
the  eaters  arose  from  the  table,  the  chicken  was  a  total  wreck, 
most  of  its  bones  being  piled  in  two  plates. 

The  boys  were  now  called  in;  but  as  they  glanced  at  the 
table  and  guessed  the  amount  of  chicken  left  for  them,  the  one 
sustaining  hope  of  that  awful  morning  seemed  utterly  eclipsed. 
It  was  too  much ;  they  were  on  the  point  of  breaking  down  in 
despair,  when  Mrs.  Flint  came  in  from  the  kitchen  with  a  plate- 
ful of  dumplings,  in  which  were  hidden  a  gizzard,  liver  and 
several  other  choice  tidbits.  The  boys  sprang  up  and  hugged 
her  on  the 'spot,  Nathan  around  the  neck  and  William  about 
the  waist  from  behind.  She  kissed  each  with  a  sad  smile  and 
went  back  to  her  work.  Left  alone,  the  boys  then  gorged  them- 
selves until  it  was  physically  impossible  to  go  any  farther,  and 
William  looked  at  the  remaining  scraps  with  a  sigh.  As  they 
were  stowing  away  the  last  bites  Louise  passed  through  the  din- 
ing-room, and  looked  at  them  with  a  cruel  triumph  in  her  eye 
as  she  said,  tauntingly: 

"Just  wait,  you  little  wretches ;  you  '11  not  feel  so  good  when 
the  dessert  comes  on." 

With  this  she  entered  the  kichen,  and  shortly  the  boys 
overheard  her  saying  spitefully  to  their  mother,  "I  don't  care; 
they  deserve  all  they'll  get,  and  more  too!" 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


Then  they  felt  their  hearts  fail  them,  and  their  knees 
knock  together.  In  gloomy  anticipation  of  the  judgment  to 
come  they  wandered  disconsolately  out  to  the  wood-pile, 
and  not  even  waiting  for  their  dinners  to  settle,  began  tak- 
ing turn  about,  chopping  on  the  hardest,  knottiest  pole  to 
be  found. 

After  an  hour's  talk  with  the  Parson  about  the  church 
and  the  general  condition  of  Zion,  Brother  RatclifTe  hooked 
up  his  mule  and  horse  to  go  home.  When  he  had  driven  away 
the  Apostle  returned  to  the  house,  where  he  learned  from  the 
irate  Louise  every  detail  of  the  boys  misconduct,  and  it  was 
painted  bad  enough.  Presently  the  miserable  culprits  saw  him 
coming  around  the  corner  of  the  house  with  hands  behind  his 
back;  and  there  was  a  grim  conviction  of  duty  in  his  eyes,  which 
the  boys  could  plainly  feel  without  close  examination.  He  came 
up,  leaned  on  the  fence  near  by,  and  for  a  few  dreadful  moments 
looked  at  them  in  utter  silence. 

William  had   the   ax  in  hand,   and  chopped  desperately, 
while   Nathan   never  before   felt  such   a 
longing  for  something  to  work  with.     He 
actually  thought  he  could 
hug  the   dullest  ax   in   the 
world  if  he  had  it  just  then. 
"Where  's  the  saw?"  at 
length  asked  the  Parson. 

"It's    broke,"    replied 
Nathan  weakly. 

A  long  pause,   during 

Fx  \\nxATiov: 
WMKRE  's  THE  SAW?" 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME.  51 

which  an  agony  of  suspense  racked  the  minds  of  the  wait- 
ing urchins. 

"And  what  broke  it?"  "asked  the  Parson  solemnly,  just  as 
if  he  did  n't  already  know. 

"I  was  a-sawin'  an'  the  pole  was  too  long;  it  kept  a-teeterin' 
so  I  could  n't  do  nothing.  I  put  a  stick  of  stove-wood  under 
the  end  to  keep  it  up,  an'  it  fell  down  an'  broke  the  saw  an' 
mashed  my  sore  foot,"  replied  Nathan,  in  -a  voice  that  seemed 
to  stick  in  his  throat. 

"And  was  that  what  was  the  matter  with  the  rooster?" 
asked  the  Apostle,  after  another  sinister  pause. 

William  hacked  at  the  pole  with  the  energy  of  despair, 
and  Nathan  thought  the  Parson's  question  the  most  senseless 
thing  he  had  ever  heard. 

"Why  don't  ye  answer  me?" — with  a  slight  elevation  of 
voice.  "Was  that  what  was  the  matter  with  the  rooster,  and  the 
horse  ye  was  shootin'  corn  at,  tryin'  to  put  out  his  eyes?" 

"No,  sir,"  blubbered  both  the  boys,  for  the  tears  would 
flow  under  the  prolonged  pumping. 

"Was  that  what  was  the  matter  with  the  calf,  and  the  pole 
ye  set  up,  to  fall  down  and  knock  people's  brains  out  and  dis- 
grace the  hull  fam'ly?" 

By  this  time  the  victims  were  past  replying.  Life  had  lost 
its  savor,  and  \vas  not  worth  living.  They  felt  the  bitterness 
of  despair,  as  looking  up,  they  saw  the  sorrowful  face  of  their 
mother  at  a  window,  the  tears  falling  fast  down  her  cheeks. 

The  Parson  seemed  to  have  closed  his  cross-examination 
with  most  satisfactory  results.  He  walked  solemnly  through 


52  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

-     \ 
the  lot,  climbed  over  the  back  fence  and  disappeared  in  the  copse 

beyond.  The  boys  sat  down  on  a  log,  waiting  miserably  and 
wishing  they  were  dead,  or  had  an  Aladdin's  lamp  to  whisk 
them  off  to  the  moon  or  some  other  far  spot  until  the  Parson 
should  go  off  to  preach  again. 

But  as  for  the  Apostle,  he  walked  along  a  narrow  trail 
until  he  reached  a  bending  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  lay  a  small, 
worn  piece  of  plank.  It  was  his  place  of  secret  prayer.  Here 
he  knelt  and  prayed  long  and  earnestly,  during  which  exercise 
he  groaned,  and  seemed  to  wrestle  much,  occasionally  rubbing 
his  great  hand  over  his  face,  or  tugging  at  his  heavy  beard.  At 
last  he  arose,  took  out  his  knife  and  cut  two  long,  slim  hickory 
sprouts.  Stripping  off  the  leaves,  he  drew  them  through  his 
hand  to  try  their  flexibility,  walked  gloomily  back  to  the  barn, 
opened  the  door  and  called  ominously: 

"Boys,  come  here!" 

It  sounded  like  the  trump  of  Gabriel,  summoning  them 
to  their  accounts.  Their  tears  broke  forth  anew,  and  they  moved 
as  if  each  step  was  the  last. 

The  Parson's  great  strength  of  arm  always  made  his  pun- 
ishments severe  enough;  but  when  they  were  dragged  out 
in  such  dismal  preparations,  sensitive  imagination  added  yet 
greater  dread  and  weight  of  misery  to  the  ordeal.  The  unhappy 
culprits  reached  the  place  of  execution,  and  leading  them  into 
an  empty  stall,  the  avenger  said  grimly: 

"I  shell  jist  hev  to  whip  ye,  there  's  no  other  course  to  pur- 
sue; teck  off  yer  coats." 

At  these  decisive  words  the  boys  broke  forth  into  wailing, 


THE  JUDGMENT  TO  COME.  53 

and  pulled  at  their  garments  as  if  the  jackets  were  frozen  to 
them.  From  a  neighboring  stall  old  Daniel  peered  wonder- 
ingly  through  a  big  crack,  and  with  William's  grief  mingled 
a  fancy  that  the  knowing  old  charger  was  actually  pitying  them. 

Whack!    Whack!    Whack! 

The  snuffling  cries  changed  into  an  agonized  yell. 

Whack!    Whack!    Whack!    Whack! 

Then  there  was  the  sound  of  a  muffled  break-down,  per- 
formed with  bare  feet,  and  an  imploring  voice  could  be  heard 
crying: 

"Oh,  pa,  don't,  don't!  I  will  be  good;  I  will  be  good! 
I  did  n't  go  to  kill  the  rooster!  Oh  Ow!  Ow!  Wow!  Don't, 
ye  're  killing  me,"  and  then  the  noise  sounded  smothered,  as 
if  the  executioner  had  twisted  the  victim's  head  under 
his  arm. 

The  same  solo,  with  but  trifling  variations  was  repeated 
by  William,  and  finally  the  voice  of  the  Parson  could  be  heard 
in  solemn  questionings,  mingled  with  the  lugubrious  sound  of 
their  weeping: 

"D'  ye  think  this  '11  be  the  last  time  ye  '11  hev  to  hev  it?" 

( "  Ye-ye-ye-ye-e-es-s-si  r !" ) 

( "  Ye-ye-ye-ye-e-es-s-si  r !" ) 

"And  d  'ye  think  ye  '11  mind  what  I  tell  ye,  and  not  be 
a-disgracin'  the  hull  fam'ly  by  yer  outragis  conduct?" 

( "  Ye-ye-ye-e-es-s-si  r !" ) 

( "  Ye-ye-ye-e-es-s-sir !" ) 

And  so  on,  until  the  number  of  virtues  those  boys  promised 
to  practice  would  have  translated  them  forthwith,  had  it  not 

5 


54  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

been  that  they  had  been  similarly  converted  at  least  twenty  times 
that  same  year. 

When  it  was  all  over  the  Parson  once  more  knelt,  made 
them  do  so,  and  offered  up  an  earnest  petition  in  their  behalf. 
They  needed  it;  but  owing  to  immediate  causes  they  occupied 
the  time  by  slyly  rubbing  their  smarting  legs,  and  knuckling 
the  hot  tears  from  their  inflamed  eyes. 

At  last  release  came,  and  the  ordeal  was  over.  Then  they 
wandered  back  to  the  wood-pile,  that  final  destiny  of  their 
lives.  Supper  was  little  better  than  a  sham,  and  after  family 
prayers  they  crept  sullenly  off  to  bed,  brooded  an  hour  over 
their  heavy  woes  and  finally  fell  into  a  sobbing  slumber. 

Yet  before  sleep  became  an  oblivion,  Nathan  dreamed  that 
his  dear,  patient  mother  stole  softly  into  their  room,  knelt  by 
the  bed  and  prayed  for  them;  and  when  finally  she  tenderly 
kissed  them,  it  seemed  as  if  her  cheeks  were  all  wet  with  tears. 

Ever  blessed  are  such  precious  dreams  to  wayward  child- 
hood! 


CHAPTER  IV. 
A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY. 

A  STORM  always  purifies  the  air, 
and  it  was  just  so  with  the  tempest  in 
FORGOT  TO  UNTIE  THEIR  TAILS,  the  domestic  sky  at  the  old  parsonage. 
The  boys  would  "lay  up  wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath"  until 
the  measure  of  their  iniquity  was  full.  Then  the  thunder-cloud 
of  the  Parson's  anger  would  discharge  itself  in  lightning  strokes 
of  justice,  and  a  few  days  of  real  sunshine  would  follow. 

True,  the  boys  never  really  intended  to  do  wrong,  but 
somehow  their  efforts  at  fun  were  sadly  unfortunate.  The  in- 
nate perversity  of  things  was  attributed  to  them.  If  in  sport 
they  threw  a  stone  or  chip  at  a  chicken,  it  seemed  always  to  hit; 
whereas  if  they  threw  at  a  legitimate  mark  the  missile  went  wide 
every  time.  If  they  tried  to  have  some  fun  with  the  calf  the 

55 


56  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

awkward  brute  was  sure  to  get  himself  mixed  up  with  some- 
thing. He  would  run  against  the  fence,  or  try  to  plunge 
through  a  half-shut  door,  catch  himself  by  the  shoulders  and 
peel  the  hide  off  his  carcass  in  a  frightful  manner.  But  once 
let  the  reprobate  get  his  stomach  full  of  milk,  and  he  would 
race  all  over  the  lot  with  tail  up  and  never  come  in  contact 
with  a  single  obstacle. 

To  the  boys  this  evidence  of  willful  depravity  on  the  part 
of  the  calf  was  very  plain;  but  the  purblind  Parson  could  never 
see  it,  and  he  never  tried  to  figure  it  out. 

Yet  had  he  remembered  the  incidents  of  his  own  youth, 
perhaps  he  might  have  been  inclined  to  mitigate  the  severity 
of  his  oft-inflicted  penalties.  The  boys  treasured  many  a  tale 
of  mischief  he  had  related  to  them  in  times  of  extraordinary 
good  humor.  One  episode  in  particular  they  had  laughed  over 
many  times.  It  was  an  attempt  on  the  Parson's  part  to  break 
a  team  of  six-months  old  calves  to  the  yoke. 

After  yoking  them  up,  he  tried  to  make  them  pull  a  sled; 
but  the  brutes  would  persist  in  running  their  rear-ends  around 
in  opposite  directions,  in  which  position  they  would  struggle, 
in  great  danger  of  breaking  their  necks.  To  overcome  this  dif- 
ficulty the  Parson  had  lapped  their  tails  about  eight  inches,  and 
tied  them  firmly  together  with  strong  cord.  This  expedient 
was  a  decided  success  and  all  progressed  finely.  But  when  the 
lesson  in  breaking  was  over,  the  youth  unyoked  the  animals  and 
forgot  to  untie  their  tails.  They  ran  off  together  a  few  yards, 
and  then  tried  to  separate,  but  the  "tail  holt"  was  too  strong. 
With  set  hoofs  they  strained  vigorously,  and  uttered  a  loud 


A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY.  57 

baa!  It  seemed  as  if  they  would  loosen  each  other's  back 
bones. 

Realizing  his  mistake  too  late,  the  frightened  Parson  had 
tried  to  cut  the  cord  that  bound  the  straining  calves;  but  no 
sooner  did  he  approach  than  they  took  fright  and  sped  away 
towards  a  wood-pasture  where  they  were  in  the  habit  of  graz- 
ing. Here,  in  an  attempt  to  pass  on  opposite  sides  of  a  tree, 
they  became  separated ;  but  one  carried  two  tufts  on  his  tail, 
and  the  other's  was  bare  as  a  rat's. 

Yet  such  incidents,  so  funny  in  the  Apostle's  youth,  were 
never  recalled  when  he  sat  in  judgment  upon  the  pranks  of  his 
boys;  they  were  judged  by  different  standards. 

After  the  chastisement  recorded  in  our  last  chapter,  the 
cloud  of  dread  that  had  hung  over  the  parsonage  for  three  days 
was  dissipated,  everything  becoming  serene.  And  when  the 
Parson  learned  of  Nathan's  testimony  in  class-meeting  he  felt 
deeply  gratified,  and  determined  that  such  sporadic  piety  should 
be  encouraged.  Accordingly,  he  bought  a  brand  new  saw  in 
fine  condition,  had  the  ax  sharpened  to  a  keen  edge,  made  a 
second  buck  to  keep  up  the  long  end  of  poles,  and  in  many  other 
ways  tried  to  further  the  work  of  grace  in  the  boy's  heart. 

The  piles  of  wood  he  laid  out  for  them  to  chop  were 
not  less,  but  occasionally  he  took  the  ax  in  hand  himself,  and 
in  the  midst  of  his  powerful  blows  asked  the  urchins  if  they 
had  ever  seen  a  man  chop  so  fast  he  could  n't  see  his  own  head 
for  the  chips. 

Stimulated  by  these  extra  attentions,  in  the  next  three  days 
the  boys  piled  up  an  astonishing  amount  of  stove-wood;  so- 


58  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

much  in  fact,  that  had  not  idleness  been  such  a  sin  in  the  Par- 
son's eyes  they  need  not  have  cut  any  further  supply  for  a  month. 
However,  experience  had  taught  them  that  there  might  be  some 
kind  of  climax  to  the  Parson's  good  humor,  and  they  wished 
to  hasten  the  event  if  possible.  For  this  reason  they  did  not 
always  stop  with  the  stints  he  set  them,  but  acted  very  indus- 
triously on  their  own  hook. 

Friday  morning  following  their  correction  Parson  Flint 
arose  very  early  and  called  the  family.  The  boys  were  dead 
sleepy,  but  the  anticipation  of  something  good  soon  caused  them 
to  throw  it  off.  While  Mrs.  Flint  was  preparing  breakfast  the 
Apostle  said: 

"Nathan,  you  and  William  run  over  to  Brother  Sisson's 
and  ask  him  to  lend  me  his  plow.  Find  out  too  if  I  can  have 
his  spring-wagon  to-morry.  Meek  haste  and  see  how  quick  ye 
kin  git  back;  jist  lay  yer  legs  to  the  yeth!" 

With  his  first  sentence  the  boys'  hopes  withered,  and  their 
eager  faces  soured.  They  knew  it  meant  a  day's  hard  work  in 
the  broiling  sun,  and  nothing  could  cause  them  greater  chagrin. 
However,  no  choice  was  left  but  to  obey,  but  they  failed  to  lay 
their  legs  to  the  earth  very  fast;  the  facetious  sally  of  the  Parson 
seemed  to  them  a  taunting  sham.  In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
they  returned  with  the  plow,  and  reported  that  the  Parson  could 
use  the  spring-wagon  until  noon  the  following  day. 

Prayers  and  breakfast  being  over,  the  Parson  put  some  old 
harness  on  Daniel,  secured  two  big  rusty  hoes  from  the  barn, 
summoned  the  boys  and  went  out  to  an  acre  lot  that  adjoined 
the  premises.  Here  planting  a  pole  at  either  end  for  guides, 


A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY.  59 

he  began  to  throw  up  some  long  ridges  with  the  plow.    After 
completing  three  he  said: 

"Now,  my  sons,  teck  yer  hoes  and  work  these  ridges  all 
up  nice  fer  late  sweet-pertaters.  Scrape  the  dirt  from  both  sides, 
and  pulverize  it  fine.  If  ye  git  the  job  done  in  time,  we  '11  go 
a-fishin'  down  at  Big  Bend  to-morry." 

Nathan  and  his  brother  had  been  watching  their  father's 
proceedings  with  doleful  feelings,  and  faces  forlorn  with 
blighted  hopes;  but  at  the  Parson's  final  words  they  suddenly 
brightened  amazingly.  Seizing  the  hoes  they  went  eagerly  to 
work,  while  the  Apostle  drove  to  the  other  side  of  the  enclosure 
to  plow  some  corn. 

The  boys  toiled  along  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then 
stopped  to  survey  their  task.  It  looked  very  discouraging;  the 
ridges  were  so  long  they  had  a  perspective;  but  there  were  only 
three  of  them,  and  the  workers  took  comfort  in  the  fact  that 
they  were  not  six.  As  they  began  again  William  spied  an  earth- 
worm, and  was  seized  with  a  brilliant  idea. 

"I  '11  tell  ye  what  we  '11  do,"  he  exclaimed  eagerly  to  Na- 
than. "Le's  git  a  can  and  pick  up  all  the  bait  we  see.  It'll 
save  us  a  lot  of  time  to-morry  morning." 

"That 's  bully,"  replied  his  brother;  ajist  wait." 

Flinging  himself  over  the  fence  he  sped  to  the  house,  and 
shortly  returned  with  a  half-gallon   fruit  can,   in  which  they  Jj 
deposited  every  worm,  bug  and  grasshopper  that  came  in  their  jf\.        \\ 

-  \\  *JR,f 

way. 

Manfully  they  tugged  along  in  the  scorching  sun,  blister- 
ing their  hands,  and  getting  the  back-ache  from  so  much 


60  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

stooping.  Meanwhile  they  could  hear  the  Apostle  scolding 
Daniel. 

"Yahh!  Git  up  there!  Keep  yer  huff  off'n  that  corn,  'fore 
I  larrup  ye.  Skik,  skik,  skik!" 

Old  Daniel  was  humping  along,  bobbing  his  head,  and 
weaving  about  in  such  a  way  as  to  demolish  all  the  corn  possi- 
ble; when  a  particularly  tall  stalk  came  in  his  way,  he  took  the 
top  of  it  along  for  lunch,  and  for  this  the  Parson  frequently 
gave  him  sounding  slaps  along  his  sweaty  sides  with  the  lines. 

Occasionally  while  the  horse  was  blowing,  the  Parson  vis- 
ited the  boys  to  see  that  they  were  doing  their  work  as  he  had 
told  them.  He  was  reeking  with  perspiration  which  trickled 
down  his  face  and  dripped  from  the  end  of  his  nose. 

By  noon  the  boys  had  scarcely  finished  half  their  task,  but 
they  had  got  their  second  wind  and  fallen  into  the  knack  of 
the  work,  so  felt  encouraged.  It  was  deep  dusk  when  the  last 
ridge  was  completed,  anc  -s  William  expressed  it,  they  were 
"tired  all  over  and  more  too." 

However,  they  had  found  scores  of  worms  of  all  sizes, 
and  that  gave  them  a  deal  of  comfort.  Supper  over,  they  hunted 
up  their  fishing  tackle,  all  meager  and  home-made. >  After  sort- 
ing out  and  arranging  it  with  great  care  they  went  to  bed  to 
dream  of  coming  sport. 

Next  morning  the  Parson  took  Daniel  over  to  Brother 
Sisson's,  and  in  a  short  time  brought  back  the  spring  wagon. 
Putting  in  a  hatchet  and  the  big  ax  he  called  the  boys  and  set 
off  for  Big  Bend.  The  excited  urchins  were  in  high  glee,  but 
grew  very  impatient  with  Daniel's  slow  pace.  This  they  tried 


A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY. 


61 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  BIG  BEND. 


to  -increase    by    numerous    hints    to    the 
driver,  and  remarks  that  the  fish 
always  bit  early  in  the  day.     But 
Daniel  was  not  to  be  hurried. 
He  had  long  before  acquired  a 
gait  of  his  own,  out  of  which 
he    seldom    varied.      The 
Parson  would  cluck  to  him 
continuously   for  a   dozen 
yards,  but  the  jogging  ani- 
mal paid  no  attention  to  it, 
unless  it  was  to  slow  up  a 
trifle    when    the    clucking 
ceased.    Then  the  Apostle 
would  hit  him  a  sounding  whack  along  his  keel  with  the  whip, 
and  thus  reproduce  the  average  speed,  but  no  more. 

For  nearly  two  miles  the  road  wound  along  the  top  of  a 
low  wooded  ridge,  and  during  this  part  of  the  trip  the  boys 
had  a  good  time.  They  jumped  from  the  wagon  to  chase  squir- 
rels, or  to  follow  a  snake-track  that  creased  the  dust  of  the  high- 
way. Plenty  of  fine  fishing-poles  grew,  all  along  the  route, 
some  large  enough,  William  remarked,  to  land  a  whale.  At 
one  place  Nathan  ran  to  ask  the  Parson  for  the  ax  with  which 
to  cut  one,  but  he  only  said,  gruffly: 

"Never  mind  about  that.  Ye  'd  both  better  git  into  the 
wagon,  and  not  go  skivin'  about  like  a  couple  of  Injins." 

There  was  no  real  command  in  his  tones,  however,  and  the 
boys  knew  they  were  not  expected  to  follow  his  advice.  Pres- 


62  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

ently  one  of  their  digressions  from  the  road  caused  them  to  fall 
quite  a  distance  behind,  and  upon  racing  away  to  catch  up, 
they  saw  that  the  wagon  had  stopped,  so  hurried  the  faster  to 
see  what  had  happened.  Then  they  made  a  most  unexpected 
discovery,  and  were  led  to  believe  that  the  whole  promise  of 
a  fishing  trip  was  only  a  gigantic  fraud.  The  Apostle  had 
driven  to  one  side  of  the  road  and  tied  Daniel  to  a  sapling.  He 
himself  was  sitting  upon  a  log,  and  sharpening  the  hatchet  with 
a  small  piece  of  whetstone. 

"Whachu  stopt  for?"  asked  William,  anxiously. 

"To  cut  some  pea-sticks,"  replied  the  Parson,  coolly.  "The 
peas  are  spilin'  fer  want  of  stickin'.  You  cut  down  them  hazel 
bushes,  Nathan,  an'  William  may  bring  'em  to  this  log  fer 
me  to  sharpen." 

"I  thought  we  wuz  goin'  fishin',"  said  William,  astonished. 

"You  '11  hev  plenty  of  time  fer  all  the  fish  you  '11  be  likely 
to  ketch  when  this  work's  done,"  returned  the  Parson,  con- 
temptuously. 

"Yes,  an'  then  the  sun  '11  be  so  hot  the  fish  won't  bite,"  cried 
Nathan,  indignantly.  "You  've  said  yourself  that  early  morn- 
ing is  the  best  time  to  fish." 

"Jist  don't  ye  let  me  hear  any  more  like  that,"  said  the 
Parson,  sternly,  "or  I  '11  teck  and  wear  out  one  of  these  sprouts 
on  ye!" 

This  closed  the  argument.  Nathan  took  the  ax  and  began 
to  hack  down  brush.  It  was  not  by  any  means  easy  or  pleasant 
work;  the  bushes  were  tough  and  springy,  causing  the  big  ax 
to  glance  in  most  exasperating  fashion.  But  the  work  went 


A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY.  63 

doggedly  on,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  the  Parson  said  they 
had  enough.  Peeling  some  hickory  bark  he  tied  the  sharpened 
pea-sticks  into  several  bundles,  which  were  set  up  against  the 
log  to  be  taken  in  upon  their  way  back. 

When  they  believed  the  long-deferred  sport  once  more 
near  at  hand  the  boys  regained  some  of  their  cheerful  spirits. 
They  got  into  the  wagon  again  almost  in  a  good  humor. 

"Can't  we  leave  the  ax  here?"  asked  William. 

"No,"  replied  the  Parson.  "It  might  be  stolen;  and  be- 
sides I  want  it  to  cut  the  poles." 

Sure  enough;  they  had  forgotten  that  use  for  it.  In  a  little 
time  they  were  driving  down  a  long  hill  into  the  river-bottoms. 
These  were  a  half-mile  across,  and  covered  with  slim  under- 
growth. The  river  was  soon  in  view,  and  the  boys  caught  sight 
of  the  broad  lake-like  ford,  where  silver-sides  were  jumping 
out  of  the  water  after  flies.  The  pea-stick  disappointment  was 
wholly  forgotten,  and  both  the  urchins  sprang  from  the  wagon 
for  a  race  to  the  Bend. 

"Hold  on!  Jist  wait  a  spell:  I  want  to  cut  them  poles," 
called  the  Parson  loudly. 

"But  maybe  there  's  some  poles  on  the  bank,"  William  re- 
plied. 

"I  don't  mean  fishirv  poles,  but  bean  poles,"  replied  the 
Parson. 

The  boys  were  furious  in  a  second. 

"You  told  us  we  wuz  goin'  a-fishin'.  I  jist  think  it 's  rotten 
mean,"  roared  Nathan  in  a  rage,  while  at  the  shock  of  it  Wil- 
liam fairly  jumped  up  and  down. 


64  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

The  Apostle  had  alighted  from  the  wagon,  and  was  tying 
Daniel  to  a  tree;  but  at  Nathan's  words  he  whirled  sharply 
about,  and  every  line  in  his  stern  face  seemed  cut  in  iron.  With 
open  mouth  he  eyed  the  boy  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  in 
rasping  tones: 

"Let  me  hear  another  word  like  that  out  of  ye,  an'  I  '11 
'frail  ye  till  yer  hide  won't  hold  shucks!" 

Then  in  vast,  indignant  rebuke: 

"You  pore  triflin'  child!  A  little  work  hurts  you  about  the 
wust  of  anyone  I  ever  see.  You  'd  git  somebody  to  breathe  fer 
you  if  ye  could,  I  reckon!" 

That  ended  all  parley.  The  angry  boys  choked  down  their 
wrath  as  best  they  might,  but  by  this  time  it  was  impossible  to 
hold  back  the  acrid  tears.  They  followed  the  Parson  about 
through  the  bottoms,  picked  up  the  poles  he  selected,  and  car- 
ried them  sullenly  back  to  the  wagon.  It  took  the  better  part 
of  another  hour  to  do  it,  and  then  in  his  glummest  manner  the 
Parson  said : 

"Go  and  fish  awhile  now,  if  ye  want  to." 

The  boys  received  his  permission  in  silence,  took  their  half- 
gallon  can  of  worms,  and  once  more  started  for  the  bend.  The 
Parson  got  out  his  pocket  Bible,  which  was  always  with  him, 
and  reclined  against  a  log  to  study  his  Sunday  sermon.  When 
the  boys  were  out  of  ear-shot,  Nathan  looked  back  and  growled 
savagely: 

"Dern'd  old  stick-in-the-mud ;  to  tell  us  sich  a  lot  of  whacks 
as  that,  jist  to  git  us  to  work!" 

"I  thought  somethin'  wuz  up  when  he  stuck  that  ax  into 


William  Gets  Caught. 


A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY.  65 

the  wagin,"  said  William  sympathetically.  "Might  a-knowed 
he  could  never  let  us  have  a  good  time.  It  'ud  be  a  marvel!" 

But  these  bitter  reflections  were  soon  forgotten  in  the  ex- 
citement of  the  well-earned  sport.  They  found  some  excellent 
poles  upon  the  bank,  and  began  to  fish.  Presently  Nathan  got 
a  bite.  He  gave  a  jerk  that  would  have  broken  the  jaw  of  a 
steel-trap ;  it  did  not  hook  the  fish,  but  wound  his  line  about 
twenty  times  around  the  limb  of  a  tree  near  by,  and  he  had  to 
climb  up  to  get  it  loose.  This  took  a  provokingly  long  time 
and  when  it  was  done  he  found  that  his  only  good  hook  was 
broken,  and  he  had  to  substitute  one  almost  big  enough  to  catch 
a  dolphin.  Having  tied  it  on,  he  baited  it  with  a  worm  to  cor- 
respond and  cast  again.  But  it  was  a  failure;  the  minnows 
nibbled  off  the  bait,  but  could  not  get  the  hook  into  their  mouths. 

During  these  misfortunes,  however,  William  was  having 
better  luck.  He  caught  two  fair-sized  perch,  and  was  highly 
elated.  Just  as  Nathan  threw  in  his  big  hook,  William  caught 
a  fine  cat-fish,  and  ran  up  the  bank  to  take  it  off.  While  he 
was  engaged  in  this  task,  Nathan  felt  another  tremendous  bite. 
Again  his  line  swished  through  the  air,  with  a  sound  like  a 
rocket.  The  nibbling  fish  was  not  caught,  but  William  was. 
While  he  was  stooping  to  unloose  his  prize  Nathan's  line  swiped 
round  him  and  the  sharp  hook  picked  up  about  a  quarter  of 
an  inch  of  flesh  on  the  calf  of  his  leg.  He  set  up  a  loud  screech 
that  brought  the  Apostle  on  a  run  to  see  what  ailed  him. 
Neither  of  the  boys  could  swim,  he  knew.  Their  visits  to  the 
river  had  not  been  frequent  enough  for  them  to  learn  that  use- 
ful art. 


66  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

When  he  found  what  the  trouble  was,  the  Parson's  reaction 
from  his  scare  greatly  exasperated  him.  He  comforted  Wil- 
liam by  snorting  in  a  tone  of  deep  disgust: 

"Why  do  n't  ye  yell !  I  thought  ye  might  be  hevin'  a  leg 
sawed  off,  or  somethin'." 

However  it  was  not  so  easy  to  remove  the  hook  as  he  had 
thought.  It  had  passed  through  beyond  the  barb;  and  after 
several  rough  attempts,  which  were  interspersed  by  shrieks  and 
clog-dances  on  William's  part,  the  Parson  got  out  his  knife  and 
began  to  whet  it  on  the  sole  of  his  boot,  preparatory  to  a  surgical 
operation.  But  just  here  Nathan  suggested  that  he  had  better 
break  the  shank  of  the  hook,  and  pull  it  out  the  other  way.  This 
was  soon  done  and  the  Parson  shut  his  knife  with  a  snap  saying 
decisively,  "Come,  let 's  go  home." 

To  him  dozing  over  the  subject  of  "Regeneration"  the  time 
had  passed  very  slowly;  but  to  the  excited  boys  only  a  few  min- 
utes seemed  to  have  elapsed. 

"Oh  le's  stay  jist  a  little  while  longer,"  pleaded  William 
through  his  tears.  "I  got  a  bully  good  bite  jist  now;  and  we 
hain't  got  half  a  mess  yet." 

"It's  now  a  little  after  eleven  o'clock," rejoined  the  Parson 
as  he  strode  away.  "We  must  git  back  by  noon.  Come  on!" 

The  boys  rebelled,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  began 
fishing  again ;  but  they  had  not  been  at  it  long  before  the  Parson 
had  got  Daniel  hooked  to  the  wagon  and  shouted : 

"O  ^)ys!" 

They  fished  on,  and  presently  the  call  was  repeated  with  more 
emphasis;  but  a  most  promising  nibble  held  them  to  the  spot. 


A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY,  67 

In  the  meantime  the  Parson  was  getting  a  number  of  bites 
himself;  some  lusty  "Gallinippers" — so  called,  the  victim  had 
explained  to  the  boys  because  at  each  "nip"  they  took  a  "gal- 
lon"— were  trying  to  puncture  his  bronzed  skin.  By  extra  drill- 
ing one  or  two  had  succeeded,  only  to  be  wrecked  for  all  time 
by  a  slap  of  his  broad  palm.  He  grew  very  impatient,  and  in 
a  voice  that  sounded  like  a  cross-cut  saw  among  splinters,  called 
to  the  delaying  urchins  a  third  time: 

"Air  you  comin,  or  will  I  hev  to  fetch  you?" 

They  knew  what  this  last  suggestion  meant,  and  got  up  to  go. 
"Confound  the  onery  luck  to  Guinea!"  exclaimed  Nathan  in  a 
rage  as  he  wound  up  his  line.  "This  is  a  pretty  way  to  take  a 
feller  fishin'!  I'll  be-diddle-de-diddled-de-daggon  if  I  don't 
wish  a  cattymount  'ud  bite  his  dern'd  leg  off!" 

But  as  he  uttered  this  frightful  wish  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  memory  of  his  testimony  in  class-meeting  the  Sun- 
day before  came  back  to  him,  and  his  conscience  rebuked 
him  bitterly.  Yet  the  provocation  was  more  than  most  boys 
could  bear. 

When  they  reached  the  wagon,  the  Apostle  was  ready  to 
go,  and  seeing  their  expression,  did  not  press  his  rebuke.  The 
boys  walked  up  the  long  hill,  put  in  the  pea-sticks,  took  an 
uncomfortable  seat  upon  the  load,  and  Daniel  jogged  home- 
ward. The  dew  was  gone,  and  he  raised  a  great  cloud  of  dust 
that  kept  him  coughing  and  sneezing  all  the  way. 

A  deep  gloom  overshadowed  the  boys;  they  did  not  cut 
any  capers  or  race  about  through  the  woods  this  trip.  The 
Parson  sang  and  made  sundry  facetious  remarks  to  Daniel, 

6 


68 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


but  the  disappointed  youths  would  not  be  beguiled, 
keeping  a  wordless  silence  which  even  the 
artful  Parson  felt  was  but  natural. 
William's  leg  was  now 
smarting;  he  took  it  upon  his 
knee  and  managed  to  squeeze 
out  a  few  pathetic  tears  over 
it.     When  they  reached  home 
Nathan   opened   the   lot  gate; 
the  Parson  drove  in,  piled  his  load  of  pea- 
ON  THE  WAY  HOME.  sticks  and  poles  in  one  corner  of  the  acre 

patch,  and  then  took  the  wagon  back  to  its  owner. 

The  boys  entered  the  house  through  the  back  porch,  and 
encountered  their  mother  in  the  kitchen.  She  saw  at  a  glance 
that  something  had  gone  wrong,  but  asked  in  a  cheerful  voice 
if  they  had  a  good  time  and  caught  lots  of  fish. 

"Naw!"  bawled  Nathan,  who  was  boiling  over.  "He  told 
us  we  was  goin'  a-fishin'  and  made  us  work  like  niggers  to  git 
to  go;  and  then  before  we  got  there,  he  made  us  cut  pea-sticks 
and  bean-poles  fer  two  hours.  Then  jist  as  we'd  begun  to  git 
some  good  bites  he  made  us  come  home.  I  wisht  I  was  dead!" 
His  violent  grief  touched  Mrs.  Flint  to  the  heart;  but 
she  could  not  seem  to  reflect  upon  her  husband's  conduct;  so 
she  said  kindly: 

'Never  mind,  boys;  mother  has  made  you  a  turnover  apiece. 
If  you'll  try  to  be  good,  I'll  get  you  something  nice  before 
long." 

This  meant  a  certainty  of  some  treasure  prized  by  boys, 


A  BIT  OF  DIPLOMACY.  69 

for  they  knew  the  promise  was  good  as  gold;  but  their  feelings 
could  not  be  subdued  all  at  once,  so  they  continued  to  snuffle 
until  in  a  low  voice  Mrs.  Flint  said: 

"Hush,  boys;  there  comes  pa!"     Then  they  stopped. 

In  due  time  the  turnovers  appeared,  and  hunger  made  them 
taste  all  the  more  delicious.  Two  weeks  later,  upon  Mrs.  Flint's 
return  from  Benton,  where  she  had  gone  to  "trade,"  each  of 
the  boys  got  a  brand  new  top  and  a  dozen  glass  marbles.  They 
felt  rich.  William  carefully  concealed  his  treasures  until  he 
had  paid  off  Dick  Patterson  by  playing  "keeps"  with  a  small, 
potato;  it  will  be  remembered  that  he  had  already  forfeited 
his  "taw." 

The  loving  mother  had  bought  these  simple  presents  for 
the  boys  with  money  saved  on  the  price  of  a  pair  of  shoes  for 
herself,  but  for  a  long  time  afterward  the  boys  did  not  know  it. 

O  tender-hearted,  sweet-souled  mothers!  Surely  heaven 
must  be  peopled  largely  with  such  as  you! 


WITH  FOOT  UP  A  so 
HEAD  DOWN. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE   PARSON   TO 
THE   FORE. 


WHEN  Parson  Flint  returned  the  borrowed  wagon  he  found 
Brother  Sisson  in  the  barn,  mending  a  set  of  old  harness.  It 
was  now  high  noon,  and  the  hot  sun  caused  wavering  heat  to 
dance  everywhere,  making  the  perspiring  Parson  long  for  a 
quiet  "meditation"  somewhere  in  cool  shade. 

Brother  Sisson  was  a  very  kind-hearted,  but  sad-appear- 
ing man.  He  had  come  to  the  place  several  years  before,  where 
by  hard  labor  and  great  frugality  the  family  had  built>up  a 
neat,  pretty  home.  But  as  will  appear,  the  light  of  his  life 
had  gone  out  forever,  leaving  him  and  his  broken  wife  in  the 
shadow  of  a  great  sorrow. 

The  brother  helped  Parson  Flint  to  unhook  Daniel,  after 
which  he  invited  the  preacher  to  sit  down  with  him  and  have 
a  talk.  Soon  their  conversation  turned  upon  religious  topics; 

70 


THE  PARSON  TO  THE  FORE.       71 

for  in  those  good  old  days  Methodists  felt  it  their  "bounden 
duty  to  let  their  conversation  be  of  heavenly  things." 

"Do  you  know,  Brother  Sisson,"  said  the  Parson  impress- 
ively, "that  I  think  the  missionary  cause  is  one  of  the  grandest 
features  of  our  Church?  Away  off  there  in  them  benighted 
lands  of  Chiny,  Afriky  and  In'jy,  where  the  gracious  influence 
of  Christianity  has  never  been  felt  heretofore,  the  pore  heathen 
has  begun  to  wake  up  and  become  concerned.  Our  reports 
show  an  increase  of  conversions  that 's  astoundin',  and  I  never 
read  'em  without  thinkin'  of  the  Apostle's  words;  'they  that 
sow  sparingly  shall  reap  sparingly.'  It  does  seem  to  me  a  cryin' 
duty  fer  us  to  contribute  as  much,  as  we  can  spare  of  our  sub- 
stance to  support  them  that  take  their  lives  in  their  hands  and 
go  forth  to  preach  the  everlastin'  gospil." 

Now,  Brother  Sisson  and  his  wife  were  childless.  They 
had  lost  three  sweet  children,  all  within  a  few  days  of  each 
other  by  that  dread  disease,  diphtheria.  This  terrible  calamity 
had  shed  a  profound  melancholy  over  both  their  lives,  but 
especially  that  of  the  lonely  father.  Himself,  he  dearly  loved 
all  boys;  perhaps  that  was  because  he  had  never  been  tormented 
by  them  as  had  the  Parson.  But  he  had  noticed  the  preacher's 
stern  methods  of  discipline;  and  it  made  his  soft  old  heart  ache 
to  see  the  youngsters  dodging  about  like  frightened  rabbits  to 
avoid  their  father's  watchful  eyes. 

The  brother  was  likewise  a  very  thoughtful  man,  and  did 
not  always  blindly  follow  the  Parson's  ideas.  The  Apostle  knew 
that  he  had  never  seemed  warmly  enthusiastic  over  the  mis- 
sionary cause,  which  \vas  his  own  special  hobby.  In  a  few  days 


72  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

the  annual  "Missionary  Meeting"  of  the  church  was  to  be  held, 
and  it  was  one  of  the  Parson's  great  ambitions  to  report  large 
collections.  Thus  it  will  be  perceived  that  the  introduction  of 
this  topic  was  not  without  its  object;  the  Parson  was  a  "fisher 
of  men."  It  is  little  wonder  then  that  he  was  somewhat  piqued 
by  Brother  Sisson's  reply  to  his  shrewd  appeal. 

"I  am  inclined  to  think,  Parson,  that  we  have  n't  done  all 
we  can  at  home  yet,"  rejoined  Brother  Sisson  evasively.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  money  spent  here  in  Walnut  Hill  would  be 
a  better  investment  than  to  send  it  away,  nobody  knows  where. 
Our  young  people  need  help  in  many  ways;  and  if  we  could 
devise  some  good  means  of  cultivating  their  social  as  well  as 
their  religious  natures,  instead  of  letting  them  wander  off  into 
sin  and  folly  it  would  be  a  mighty  acceptable  work  in  the  Lord's 
sight.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

In  a  half-hearted  way  the  Parson  admitted  that  there  might 
be  something  in  the  idea,  but  quickly  added: 

"You  know,  Brother  Sisson,  that  the  natural  tendency  of 
the  young  and  giddy  is  to  evil,  and  that  continually.  And  I 
think  we  'd  ought  to  discourage  all  these  night  gathering  unless 
of  course  it 's  a  young  people's  prayer-meeting  or  the  like.  W'y 
only  jist  last  week  I  passed  the  house  of  a  man  that  used  to  be 
a  bright  and  shinin'  light  in  the  church;  he  had  a  houseful  of 
boys  and  gals,  and  there  wa9  the  sound  of  a  fiddle  goin'  and 
the  noise  of  feet,  ca-lum',  ca-lum',  ca-lurrT!  It's  a  direct  vio- 
lation of  the  discipline,  and  I  shall  hev  to  bring  his  case  up 
before  the  quart'ly  conference  fer  it." 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  parishioner,  smiling  at  the  Parson's 


THE  PARSON  TO  THE  FORE.        73 

imitation  of  the  dancing  feet,  "but  it  won't  do  to  hold  our  young 
folks  with  too  tight  a  rein.  If  we  do,  when  they  grow  older 
they  're  likely  to  resent  it,  and  give  us  trouble.  Give  them  no 
amusements  that  are  right,  and  they  '11  be  sure  to  seek  them 
that  are  wrong.  I  do  think  that  if  our  parents  would  give  this 
subject  more  attention,  we  should  have  a  better  set  of  boys  and 
girls.  Just  think!  It  ain't  been  such  a  long  time  ago,  Parson, 
when  you  and  me  were  youngsters,  and  liked  our  fun  as  well 
as  any  of  'em." 

But  this  was  pupil  teaching  teacher,  and  when  he  remem- 
bered his  own  family  and  position,  the  Parson's  ministerial 
dignity  somewhat  bridled  at  it.  He  arose  to  go,  and  found  that 
in  trying  to  reach  a  forbidden  bunch  of  grass  old  Daniel  had 
got  one  foreleg  over  his  halter  strap.  With  foot  up  and  head 
down  he  was  standing  in  a  very  uncomfortable,  apprehensive 
kind  of  way,  much  like  all  that  belonged  to  the  Apostle.  After 
relieving  and  untying  him  the  preacher  said: 

"Well,  I  must  be  gittin'  back  and  seein'  after  things.  I  'm 
a  thousand  times  obleeged  to  ye  fer  the  loan  of  the  wagon, 
Brother  Sisson." 

"Not  at  all!  Not  at  all!"  was  the  cheerful  reply.  "Won't 
you  stop  in  and  take  dinner  with  us?  It  must  be  nigh  ready." 

It  was  not  often  the  Parson  refused  an  invitation  to  dine, 
but  being  near  at  home  he  did  so  this  time.  He  bade  his  parish- 
ioner good  bye  and  led  Daniel  away. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  parsonage  and  stabled 
Daniel  his  own  meal  was  ready,  and  the  family  sat  down  to 
table.  William's  fish  had  been  fried,  and  as  he  helped  himself 


74 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


to  one  the  savory  odor  reminded  the  Apostle  of  a  ditty  he  had 
learned  in  boyhood: 

"There  was  a  minner  in  the  brook, 
The  daddy  caught  him  with  a  hook; 
The  mammy  fried  him  in  a  pan, 
The  daddy  ate  him  like  a  man." 

But  the  boys  were  glum  and  unresponsive;  they  did  not 
even  smile  at  this  sally,  J)ut  looked  with  sober  longings  at  the 
apple-dumplings. 

When  dinner  was  finished,  the  Apostle  took  the  two  urchins 
to  the  acre-patch,  and  gave  them  careful  instructions  about 

sticking  the  peas.  He  showed 
them  how  the  sticks  must  be 
crossed,  how  far  apart  they 
should  be  set,  and  just  how 
deep  into  the  ground  to  thrust 
them.  The  boys  were  in  a 
mood  to  rebel,  but  knowing 
how  useless  that  would  be  they 
went  doggedly  to  work.  The  Parson  saw  how  sullen  they  were, 
and  after  watching  them  a  short  time  with  rebuke  written  large 
on  his  countenance,  he  went  to  take  an  afternoon  "meditation." 
Left  to  themselves  the  boys  were  not  nearly  so  careful 
in  following  the  Parson's  directions  as  he  had  been  in  giving 
them;  they  did  not  measure  the  distance  between  sticks,  nor  use 
very  great  force  in  pushing  them  into  the  ground,  thus  getting 
along  much  faster  than  it  was  intended  they  should.  When- 
ever they  found  a  particularly  long,  lithe  hazel  it  was  laid  aside 
for  reasons  that  will  appear. 


PEA-STICKING. 


THE  PARSON  TO  THE  FORE. 


.75 


About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  their  work  was  fin- 
ished, and  they  went  to  reconnoiter.  The  Apostle  was  seated 
on  the  shady  side  of  the  house,  tipped  back  in  a  chair,  a 
foot  upon  a  rung,  and  one  leg  crossed  over  the  other  in  a 
sound  nap. 

Finding  him  thus  oblivious,  the  boys  skulked  off  to  a  ravine 
some  distance  away,  where  they  worked  up  a  batch  of  tough 
clay  into  a  stiff  cake  and  smuggled  it  into  the  buggy  shed.  Next 
'preparing  their  hazel  switches,  they  rolled  up  small  pieces  of 
clay,  stuck  them  on  the  ends  of  the  sprouts  and  began  to  throw 
them.  This  was  evidently  no  new  sport,  for  they  were  very 
expert.  Shortly  the  pellets  were  directed  toward  a  neighbor's 
house,  which  soon  exhibited  the  appearance  of  incipient  chicken- 
pox;  and  when  Dick  Patterson  climbed  over  the  back  fence  and 
joined  them,  the  disease  rapidly  grew  worse.  Presently 
the  spat  of  the  mud-balls  upon  the  house  brought  a 
woman  to  the  door  to  see  what  was  going  on;  but 
upon  her  appearance  the  boys  would  dodge  into  the 
buggy-shed  and  chuckle  wickedly  until  she  had  re- 
tired. 

At  last  the  Parson  interfered  with  this  vile  sport. 
Awakened  by  the  fall  of  his  book  and  not  seeing  the 
boys  he  set  out  to  find  them.  Striding  up  in  high 
dudgeon  he  jerked  the  sprouts  from  their  hands  and 
quickly  turned  the  siege  upon  the  besiegers  at  short  range 
and  with  clubbed  guns.  At  the  first  sign  of  danger  Dick 
Patterson  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  stopping  at  a  safe  distance  to 
see  the  end  of  the  affair.  When  the  Parson  had  completely 


THROWING  CLAY  BALLS. 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


\- 


A  THUMP  OF 
THE  HOE. 


routed  the  foe  he  looked  sternly  at  Dick  and  said  in  his  most 
forbidding  tone: 

"Teck  yerself  off,  young  man ;  and  do  n't  let  me  see  ye 
round  here  any  more,  sir!" 

But  Dick  was  not  the  least  abashed.  He  sat  down  impu- 
dently in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  began  to  pile  dust  over 
his  bare  feet. 

When  the  smoke  of  conflict  had  drifted  away  the  Parson 
set  the  boys  to  hoeing  corn;  and  as  each  started  upon  a  row  he 
sent  after  them  the  words : 

"Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do." 

Nathan  heard  it,  and  bursting  a  clod  with  a  vicious  thump 
of  his  hoe  muttered  under  his  breath  that  he  "did  n't  give  a 
-  dern." 

It  was  night-fall  before  the  boys  were  called  to  supper, 
and  they  felt  that  this  horrible  day  had  been  one  of  the  most 
miserable  hoaxes  in  all  their  lives.  Its  piled-up  disappoint- 
ments seemed  more  than  any  ordinary  boys  could  bear.  At 
family  prayers  William  laid  his  tired  head  in  his  mother's  lap 
and  snuffled;  but  Nathan  sat  bolt  upright,  looking  as  ugly  as 
possible.  The  Apostle  read  a  selection  beginning,  "He  that 
being  often  reproved  hardeneth  his  neck,  shall  suddenly  be 
destroyed,  and  that  without  remedy." 

Of  course  the  boys  knew  that  this  was  intended  especially 
for  them,  but  Nathan  wickedly  felt  his  neck,  hoping  to  find 
it  growing  harder.  The  Parson  was  very  impressive  and  dis- 
mal in  these  exercises,  reading  in  a  deep,  deliberate  tone  the 


THE  PARSON  TO  THE  FORE.        77 

better  to  burn  the  warning  into  the  hearts  of  his  degenerate 
sons.  His  words  sounded  as  might  those  of  some  stony  judge, 
about  to  pronounce  the  death-sentence  upon  a  prisoner  at 
the  bar. 

When  at  last  he  had  finished  the  Scriptural  reading,  he 
took  his  chair  a  little  way  toward  the  wall,  knelt  upon  one 
knee  and  offered  up  the  evening  petition,  pleading  for  all  that 
mercy,  tenderness  and  forgiveness  which  he  somehow  failed 
to  show  the  boys. 

They  crept  away  to  bed  in  silent  bitterness.  Through  the 
leaden  murk  of  their  grief  there  came  one  final  ray  of  hope  at 
last.  The  Fourth  of  July  was  only  a  few  days  off! 


CHAPTER  VI. 
FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

IN  all  the  country  there  was  not  a  more  patriotic  man  than 
Parson  Flint.  He  was  known  as  a  "red-hot  abolitionist" 
who  was  enthusiastic  and  outspoken  on  every  occasion.  He 
believed  in  the  observance  of  all  National  services  and  holi- 
days, particularly  that  of  the  Fourth  of  July.  When,  therefore, 
on  the  Monday  following  the  events  of  our  last  chapter  the  boys 
asked  if  they  might  collect  old  iron  to  get  money  for  the  coming 
celebration,  he  gave  a  hearty  consent.  The  plan  pleased  him  well 
because  it  would  involve  no  outlay  of  his  own  scanty  means. 
Highly  elated  at  the  prospect,  the  boys  went  eagerly  to 
work  at  once.  There  had  been  several  wrecks  of  old  stoves 
abandoned  by  former  occupants  of  the  parsonage,  and  to  these 
the  boys  quickly  added  every  scrap  of  metal  they  could  find. 
One  of  the  flat-irons  was  discovered  with  a  side  of  its  handle 
loose ;  and  for  some  occult  reason  the  other  side  quickly  gave  out, 
rendering  the  article  unfit  for  further  use,  so  it  was  added  to 
their  store.  They  drew  every  nail  in  reach,  inspected  all  the 
buggy  bolts,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  try  old  Daniel's  shoes 
to  see  if  they  were  on  tight.  During  this  operation  Daniel  evi- 
dently thought  some  new  attack  was  about  to  be  made  upon  his 
ribs,  so  he  reached  around  and  gave  Nathan  a  sharp  nip  where 
it  would  do  the  most  good. 


FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


79 


TOOK  THEIR  IRON  TO  A  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP. 


On  the  afternoon  of  the  third,  they  procured  a  wheelbar- 
row, and  took  their  collection  to  a  blacksmith's  shop,  where  it 
sold  for  sixty  cents.  This  was  more  money  than  they  had  ever 
owned  before,  and  they  regarded  it  as  a  large  factor 
in  the  million  dollars  William  always  coveted.  Long 
before  this  they  had  determined  what  to  buy; 
accordingly  they  purchased  a  Roman  candle, 
two  fair-sized  sky-rockets,  and  had  ten  cents 
left  to  spend  upon  the  celebration  grounds. 
On  the  way  home  they  invited  every  boy 
they  met  to  come  and  witness  their  fire- 
works, and  went  to  bed  in  a  fever  of  excitement  over  the 
coming  sport. 

Booming  cannon  and  snapping  fire-crackers  awoke  them 
betimes  the  following  morning.  The  Parson  had  forbidden 
them  to  leave  the  parsonage  grounds,  but  they  were  quickly 
dressed  and  perched  upon  the  fence  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
The  day's  celebration  was  to  take  place  at  the  fair-grounds, 
a  mile  from  town,  and  several  magnates  were  expected  to  speak. 
Soon  from  all  directions  straggling  crowds  of  country  people 
began  to  arrive.  There  were  sway-bedded  wagons,  full  to  their 

utmost  capacity. 
There  were  jaded 
women,  some  with  a 
baby  on  one  hip,  and 
a  youngster  or  two 
clinging  to  their 
skirts.  Rural  swains 

•^iWk 

PERCHED  ON  THE  FENCE, 


8o  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

strolled  about,  often  holding  a  sweetheart's  hand,  looking  as 
bashful  and  awkward  as  possible.  Then  there  were  farmers 
in  shirt-sleeves  and  blue-jeans,  some  of  them  already  boister- 
ous with  too  much  whiskey. 

About  nine  o'clock  a  long,  motley  procession  strung  out 
down  the  main  street  of  the  village,  and  headed  for  the  fair- 
grounds. It  was  preceded  by  a  horrible  brass  band,  and  flanked 
with  skylarking  small  fry  of  every  description.  The  boys  wanted 
to  join  this  noisy  cavalcade,  but  the  Parson  forbade  it,  saying 
they  would  go  later  when  the  dust  had  settled. 

Once  having  arrived  at  the  celebration  grounds,  the  boys 
managed  quickly  to  elude  the  Parson's  watchful  eye,  and 
wandered  about  among  the  stands  and  booths  at  their  own 
sweet  will.  They  were  full  of  admiration  and  open-mouthed 
wonder.  Among  the  many  novel  objects  that  attracted  them 
a  "wooden  nigger"  and  a  hand-organ  interested  them  finally 
more  than  anything  else.  The  former  image  with  a  pipe 
in  its  mouth  was  set  up  before  a  piece  of  canvas:  its  pro- 
prietor had  a  score  of  short  clubs,  and  anyone  throwing  so 
as  to  break  the  pipe  received,  so  the  owner  loudly  declared, 
a  fine  cigar. 

The  price  of  a  trial  was  one  dime,  but  as  William  had 
already  spent  their  ten  cents  for  bologna  sausage,  the  boys  had 
to  stand  and  watch  others  make  the  trial.  Each  felt  sure,  how- 
ever, that  if  the  image  were  only  a  live  rooster  he  could  hit  it 
every  cast. 

After  watching  these  proceedings  for  a  long  time,  they 
wandered  off  to  a  lemonade  stand  and  gazed  at  the  thirsty  crowd 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  81 

that  thronged  about  it.  Presently  the  jovial  voice  of  Brother 
Ratcliffe  hailed  them. 

"Hello,  boys!  You  a-celebratin',  too?  Come  along  and 
have  a  glass  of  lemonade  with  me!" 

No  second  invitation  of  this  kind  was  needed,  and  soon 
each  of  them  was  provided  with  a  tall  tumbler  of  the  refresh- 
ing beverage.  After  drinking  and  asking  where  their  father 
was,  Brother  Ratcliffe  gave  them  each  a  dime  and  strolled  away. 
Such  unexpected  good  fortune  made  them  wriggle  with  de- 
light, and  they  hastened  at  once  to  purchase  a  throw  at  the 
wooden  nigger. 

For  a  wonder  Nathan  smashed  the  pipe  at  the  first  cast,  and 
according  to  the  terms  already  mentioned,  received  from  the 
grinning  proprietor  a  "fine  Havana  cigar."  .  It  was  really  a 
vile  thing  with  a  Lincoln  green  wrapper.  The  boy  took  it 
sheepishly,  for  neither  he  nor  William  had  ever  before  so  much 
as  handled  one.  They  quickly  retired  from  the  main  crowd, 
and  sat  down  upon  a  log  to  examine  their  prize.  Finally  they 
concluded  to  light  it,  but  before  doing  so,  William  went  through 
elaborate  motions  of  smoking.  He  held  the  cigar  between  his 
thumb  and  finger,  put  it  nearly  to  his  lips,  took  an  imaginary 
pull  and  gave  a  very  artistic  puff.  Then  he  spat  smack  on  a 
bumble-bee  that  was  hanging  to  a  clover-blossom  near  by,  and 
handed  the  cigar  to  Nathan. 

Producing  some  matches  he  had  carried  for  a  fortnight 
in  anticipation  of  the  fireworks,  Nathan  lighted  one,  stuck  the 
cigar  between  his  teeth  and  tried  to  smoke,  but  a*  choking  whiff 
of  sulphur  was  all  he  succeeded  in  getting.  However,  William 


82  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

informed  him  that  he  must  bite  off  the  end  of  the  cigar  before 
it  would  draw,  and  having  attended  to  this,  he  had  better  suc- 
cess upon  the  second  trial.  The  acrid  smoke  rolled  in  a  white 
cloud  out  of  his  mouth  and  nose. 

"Gosh!"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  got  his  breath  again; 
"I  do  n't  like  it.  The  onery  thing  tastes  like  the  measles." 

When  William  had  tried  it  he  fully  agreed  with  this  ver- 
dict, and  made  a  wry  face  at  the  nasty  weed. 

"I  'd  a  good  deal  rather  have  bologna,"  he  remarked,  in 
disgust,  and  threw  the  cigar  into  the  grass. 

With  the  remaining  dime  they  bought  a  box  of  prize-candy 
at  a  confection  stand.  This  package  was  said  to  contain  be- 
side the  full  money's  worth  of  sweetmeats,  a  valuable  piece 
of  jewelry.  Seizing  this  new  treasure,  they  quickly  went  aside 
and  sat  down  under  a  tree  to  examine  it. 

Nathan  placed  his  hat  upon  the  ground  and  poured  the 
contents  of  the  box  into  it:  these  were  a  dozen  bits  of  candy 
about  the  size  of  worm-lozenges,  together  with  the  prize, 
wrapped  in  tissue  paper.  William  stood  before  his  brother 
with  hands  on  his  knees  and  a  look  of  intense  expectancy  upon 
his  face.  When  the  paper  was  unrolled,  both  gave  a  grunt  of 
genuine  delight;  the  prize  was  a  piece  of  brazed  tin  stamped 
into  a  figure  of  a  locomotive,  something  they  had  very  seldom 
seen.  .  With  bated  breath  they  gazed  at  it,  examining  each 
detail  of  cab,  bell,  sand-box,  cow-catcher,  smokestack  and  all. 
Then  they  turned  it  over  to  see  what  was  on  the  reverse  side, 
and  found  a  pin  to  attach  it  to  one's  coat. 

It  was   finally   arranged   that  they  should  wear   it   alter- 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  83 

nately,  William  to  have  the  first  turn.  He  fixed  it  to  the  breast 
of  his  roundabout  and  strutted  through  the  crowd,  certain  that 
everybody  must  notice  and  admire  the  novel  ornament. 

It  was  a  trifle  after  noon  when  the  speaking  was  finished 
and  dinner  announced  from  the  grand-stand.  The  boys  were 
by  this  time  ravenously  hungry,  and  were  not  missing  when 
there  was  eating  to  do.  They  sampled  everything  in  reach, 
and  when  finally  each  received  a  large  slice  of  jelly-cake,  it 
seemed  as  if  they  had  reached  the  delectable  land.  William 
wished  fervently  that  the  day  would  never  end. 

But  "no  man  can  tether  time  or  tide."  Late  in  the  after- 
noon the  Apostle  hunted  them  up,  coming  upon  them  near  a 
stand  where  some  noisy  men  were  drinking  beer.  Noticing 
their  absorbed  interest  in  this  sight,  the  Parson  asked  them  sol- 
emnly if  they  "hed  been  teckin'  a  glass  with  the  others."  William 
ruefully  replied: 

aNo;  we  hain't  got  no  money." 

"What  did  ye  do  with  the  money  ye  got  fer  the  iron?" 
asked  the  Parson  at  this.  To  tell  the  truth  his  conscience  re- 
minded him  of  how  little  he  had  himself  aided  them  to  celebrate. 

"We  spent  that  fer  Roman  candles  and  things,"  replied 
Nathan. 

Upon  learning  this  the  Parson  felt  much  better,  and  satis- 
fied his  qualms  with  a  promise  of  some  powder  for  a  "fluff" 
to  go  with  the  fireworks  that  evening.  A  "fluff"  was  merely 
the  flash  of  ignited  powder,  laid  on  a  chip. 

The  boys  were  greatly  tickled  with  this  prospective  addi- 
tion to  their  coming  fund  of  amusement;  and  William  whis- 


84  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

pered  to  Nathan  that  they  could  make  some  cob-cannon  when 
they  reached  home.  After  returning  to  town  and  doing  their 
evening  chores,  they  set  about  making  the  cob-cannon,  and 
soon  had  two  fine  ones  completed.  Darkness  seemed  to  be  a 
long  time  coming,  and  in  their  impatience  they  brought  out  and 
arranged  their  assortment  of  fireworks  before  it  was  deep  dusk. 

Neither  of  them  understood  the  mechanism  of  Roman  can- 
dles, so  Dick  Patterson,  who  had  come  around  at  their  invita- 
tion, acted  as  their  instructor.  The  candle  they  had  bought 
would  shoot  three  times,  and  it  was  arranged  that  each  boy 
should  hold  it  in  turn.  Dick  lighted  the  fuse  and  whirled  the 
thing  about  in  a  great  shower  of  sparks.  Presently  out 
popped  a  red  fire-ball,  upon  which  he  promptly  handed  the 
sputtering  article  to  William,  who  got  burned  and  dropped 
it  on  the  ground  with  a  yelp.  However,  Nathan  seized  it  and 
very  dexterously  fired  his  shot  against  the  side  of  the  house, 
when  the  shell  alone  remained,  an  empty  emblem  of  patriotism. 
William  asked  Dick  it  if  could  n't  be  made  to  shoot  some  more, 
but  that  expert  said  no,  the  "spondulicks"  were  all  out  of  it. 

By  this  time  it  was  quite  dark,  and  they  tackled  the  rock- 
ets, setting  up  a  yell  of  delight  as  the  wonderful  thing  went 
swishing  off  toward  the  sky,  leaving  behind  a  dying  trail  of 
sparks. 

This  last  performance  exhausted  their  supplies,  and  Dick 
said  he  must  run  down  town  to  see  what  was  going  on  there. 
Of  course  the  boys  were  forbidden  this  treat,  so  they  had  to  con- 
tent themselves  with  what  they  could  witness  from  the  top  of 
the  smoke-house. 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  85 

In  a  little  time  they  recalled  the  Parson's  promise  of  pow- 
der for  a  fluff,  and  ran  to  get  it.  The  Apostle  poured  them 
about  a  tablespoonful  on  a  piece  of  paper  and  handing  it  out 
said: 

"Now  be  careful,  and  don't  blow  yerselves  up.  Here's 
enough  powder  for  twenty  fluffs." 

Out  to  the  lot  they  raced  with  a  whoop,  and  Nathan  soon 
had  a  cob-cannon  heavily  loaded.  Lighting  the  end  of  a  switch, 
he  got  behind  a  tree  to  touch  it  off,  while  William  peeped  nerv- 
ously from  the  barn-door  a  dozen  yards  away.  The  explosion 
was  tremendous;  and  the  Apostle  opened  the  door  to  call  anx- 
iously: 

"What  air  ye  doin'  out  there?  Fust  ye  know  ye '11  be 
blowin'  yer  heads  plumb  off!" 

But  Nathan  explained  that  they  were  only  having  a  new 
kind  of  fluff,  and  set  to  work  to  reload  the  cannon.  The  pre- 
vious success  had  made  him  very  bold,  so  he  stood  from  behind 
the  tree  in  the  open,  and  when  the  explosion  came  the  cob 
burst  into  a  dozen  pieces,  one  of  which  knocked  a  patch  of 
skin  about  the  size  of  a  nickel  from  the  rash  youth's  forehead, 
just  above  his  left  eye.  He  jumped  back  and  felt 
anxiously  to  find  if  his  brains  were  not  oozing  out. 

William  poured  the  remaining  powder  on  a  large 
chip,  and  tried  to  set  it  off  with  a  live-coal;  but  after 
several   fruitless  efforts  he  dropped   upon  his  knees 
to  learn  what  ailed  it.     This  brought  his  face 
too    near  the    treacherous    stuff;    it    suddenly 
flashed  up  and  scared  him  out  of  his  wits,  at 


THE  COB  FLEW  INTO  A 
DOZEN  PIECES, 


86  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

the  same  time  singeing  off  most  of  his  eyebrows  and  sparse 
eye-lashes.  When  he  got  up  his  face  looked  as  sooty  as  the 
wooden  nigger's  at  the  fair-grounds. 

They  made  a  trip  to  the  kitchen,  where  Nathan  covered 
his  wound  with  tallow,  and  William  bathed  his  disfigured  coun- 
tenance with  buttermilk. 

This  ended  their  memorable  Fourth  of  July.  It  had  been 
full  of  incident  and  accident,  and  the^  were  sorry  it  was  over. 
After  family  prayers  they  went  to  bed,  too  tired  to  dream.  But 
the  next  morning  William  awoke  with  the  colic,  and  Nathan's 
swelled  forehead  looked  as  if  he  might  be  sprouting  a  horn 
like  a  calf. 


CHAPTER   VII. 
WILLIAM  BECOMES  A  "  LIFE-MEMBER. " 

DURING  the  next  few  days  nothing  of  any  special 
interest  occurred  at  the  parsonage.  The  excitement 
of  the  Fourth  died  out,  and  under  its  reaction  neither 
the  Parson  nor  the  boys  felt  much  energy. 

However,  upon  the  next  Saturday  and  Sunday  came  the 
great  "Annual  Missionary  and  Sunday-school  Convention." 
Delegates  from  all  over  the  county  attended  this  notable  gath- 
ering, and  one  or  two  of  them  were  entertained  by  the  Parson's 
family.  In  preparation  for  the  event  the  girls  swept  and  gar- 
nished the  house,  the  while  imparting  to  Nathan  and  William 
much  private  instruction  as  to  how  they  should  behave.  But 
none  of  their  iron-clad  rules  of  conduct  could  improve  William's 
bald  countenance  from  which  the  skin  had  begun  to  peel,  nor 
cure  Nathan's  forehead,  which  showed  signs  of  gangrene. 

A  month  before  the  convention  took  place  Parson  Flint 
had  distributed  among  the  Sunday-school  scholars  of  Walnut 
Hill  several  "Juvenile  Missionary  Cards."  These  slips  were 
designed  for  subscriptions  to  the  cause,  and  were  very  pretty, 
containing  upon  the  margins  various  Scriptural  quotations: 

"Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters." 

"The  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  giver." 

87 


88  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"He  that  soweth  sparingly  shall  reap  sparingly,"  etc. 

When  by  soliciting  with  one  of  these  cards  the  collector 
had  raised  five  dollars,  he  was  then  entitled  to  a  missionary  cer- 
tificate. 

This  prize  was  a  parchment  about  fifteen  by  eighteen  inches 
in  size,  and  upon  it  was  stated  that  the  holder  was  thereby  con- 
stituted "A  Life  Member  of  the  -  -  Conference  Missionary 
Society  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church." 

Besides  this  inscription  it  had  in  one  corner  the  picture 
of  a  very  fat  bull  around  which  some  people  were  kneeling, 
while  the  animal  glared  at  them  with  wondering  eyes  as  if  to 
inquire  what  ailed  them.  At  the  top  were  the  figures  of  two 
men  who  seemed  to  have  just  been  awakened  from  sound  sleep 
by  a  spook  which  was  pointing  toward  a  town  upon  the  far 
horizon.  Printed  underneath  was  a  sentiment  which  said  spook 
was  supposed  to  be  uttering: 

"Come  over  into  Macedonia  and  help  us." 

When  the  Parson  distributed  collection  cards  among  the 
scholars  he  had  held  up  and  explained  one  of  these  marvelous 
prizes  with  an  eloquence  that  fired  several  boys  and  girls  with 
a  consuming  ambition  to  become  "A  Life  Member."  They 
did  not  know  exactly  what  it  meant,  but  all  fancied  there  must 
be  some  great  honor  and  possible  profit  to  result  from  its  pos- 
session. 

Now,  William  had  been  entrusted  with  one  of  the  cards,  and 
in  the  meanwhile  had  exerted  himself  to  obtain  subscriptions; 
but  the  great  day  had  come  and  he  had  unfortunately  secured 
only  four  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents.  It  made  him  feel  very 


WILLIAM  BECOMES  A  "LIFE-MEMBER."      89 

sad  to  come  so  near  glory  and  yet  miss  it  by  "two  bits."  On  his 
way  to  church,  however,  Brother  Sisson  overtook  him  and  asked 
kindly: 

"What  makes  you  look  so  glum,  my  boy?" 

"Cause  I  hain't  got  enough  money,"  replied  William  rue- 
fully, exhibiting  his  collection  card. 

Brother  Sisson  examined  the  subscription  list,   and  then 
without   putting   his   own   name   down   handed   William   a 
quarter,    which    made    that    youth    rejoice    with    exceeding 
great  joy. 

At  last  the  auspicious  moment  came.    There  before  all 
the  delegates  and  a  dense  crowd  of  spectators  William  stood 
upon  the  pulpit  platform,  nearly  swooning  to  find  himself 
the  only  boy  among  five  saucy,  giggling  girls.    His  closely 
cropped   hair  bristled:   his  sun-burned   hands  seemed   to 

GAVE  WILLIAM  A 

weigh  forty  pounds  apiece,  and  he  tried  to  hide  them  in  QUARTER. 

his  trousers'  pockets.  His  lean  balls  of  knees  smote  together, 
and  his  onion-like  eyes  looked  wild  and  glaring  without  their 
lonesome  lashes.  It  was  unspeakably  mortifying  when  Sis 
Pickle  whispered  loud  enough  to  be  heard  several  pews  off: 

"You  look  perfectly  awful!  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
and  why  ain't  ye  got  no  eye-winkers?" 

Silas  Durham,  William's  most  detested  enemy,  overheard 
these  pert  questions,  and  when  the  terrible  ordeal  was  over 
upon  the  platform  did  not  spare  William  his  gibes  and  ridi- 
cule. 

When  with  appropriate  remarks  he  had  bestowed  the  cov- 
eted certificates,  Parson  Flint  requested  the  sufferers  to  recite  the 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


Twenty-third  Psalm  together,  which  they  did,  William's  voice 
being  a  trembling  quaver,  a  half-octave  higher  than  any  other. 

The  glory-crowned  six  were  now  "Life-Members."  They 
were  seated  upon  the  mourners'  bench,  and  several  people  of  the 
convention  were  requested  to  speak  in  favor  of  the  Missionary 
Cause.  Among  those  who  responded  was  one  of  the  guests  from 
the  parsonage.  His  speech  was  quite  interesting,  and  in  the 
course  of  his  remarks  told  a  pretty  story  about  "Little  Atung," 
a  poor  China  boy,  who  lived  in  a  far  heathen  land.  This  waif 
"was  converted  to  Christianity  by  a  good  missionary;  he  aban- 
doned his  idols,  and  because  he  could  not  speak  plainly  after- 
wards prayed  to  Je  Chlist." 

Then  the  speaker  paid  a  very  hearty  tribute  to  the  noble 
half-dozen  seated  before  him.  He  told  them  that  all  the  money 
they  had  collected  would  be  sent  to  the  heathen  to  instruct  their 
minds,  convert  their  souls,  thus  making  them  "fit  meat  for  the 
Master's  use."  William  listened  wonderingly  to  all  this.  The 
speaker  stood  right  in  front  of  him,  and  when  he  uttered  the 
words  "fit  meat  for  the  Master's  use,"  the  boy  wondered  if  con- 
verted heathen  were  good  to  eat. 

Brother  Van  Bunthusen  was  a  great  curiosity  to  the  new 
"Life-Members."  He  had  a  full  moon-face,  a  short,  chubby 
body,  and  a  wonderful  flow  of  language,  but  the  strangest  kind 
of  gestures.  These  were  made  entirely  from  his  elbows,  which 
were  planted  in  his  sides.  His  forearm  seemed  to  be  all  ball-and- 
socket  joints,  particularly  loose  at  the  wrist.  During  one  sen- 
tence he  would  twirl  his  hands  around  from  the  outside  towards 
his  stomach,  and  in  the  next  would  reverse  this  motion. 

But  as  odd  as  were  his  appearance  and  motions,  the  brother's 


WILLIAM  BECOMES  A  "LIFE-MEMBER."      91 

speech  was  very  earnest  and  well  received.  Before  sitting  down 
he  said  he  was  very  sorry  to  find  that  but  one  he-lamb  of  the 
fold  had  been  working  for  the  good  cause:  and  while  saying 
it  he  suspended  his  circular  gestures  long  enough  to  reach  out 
and  lay  a  fat  hand  on  William's  head.  It  startled  him  to  find 
how  much  that  youth's  bristles  resembled  the  feel  of  a  hair- 
brush. Perhaps  William  was  a  Mexican  lamb. 

After  several  others  had  spoken,  much  in  the  same  strain, 
the  now  restless  assembly  sang  "From  Greenland's  icy  moun- 
tains," and  were  dismissed  until  the  afternoon  session. 

On  his  way  home  William  was  very  much  annoyed  by 
Silas  Durham,  who  taunted  him  meanly,  yelling  aloud  such 
awful  epithets  as  "preacher,"  "owl,"  "bald-face,"  until  the  vic- 
tim could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  struck  one,  and  in  a  second 
the  pugnacious  couple  had  clinched.  In  utter  disregard  of 
the  day,  Sunday  suits  or  dread  of  the  Apostle's  wrath,  they  en- 
gaged in  a  lively  fisticuff  right  in  the  middle  of  the  dusty  road. 
William  managed  to  trip  his  enemy  and  then  caught  him  with 
both  hands  by  the  shock  of  hair,  which  soon  brought  cries  for 
mercy. 

"Will  ye  ever  call  me  preacher  ag'in  if  I  let  ye  up?"  Silas 
said  he  would  n't. 

"Well,  this  ain't  a  patchin'  to  what  I'll  give  ye  if  ye  ever 
call  me  names  ag'in,"  said  William  as  he  arose. 

He  was  a  sight  to  see,  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  dust; 
and  in  the  very  worst  plight  possible  he  was  seen  by  Louise  who 
was  walking  home  with  Brother  Van  Bunthusen.  Silas  Dur- 
ham cleared  the  dust  from  his  eyes  and  ran  away;  but  at  a  safe 
distance  he  turned  round  and  yelled  spitefully  at  William: 


92  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"The  delegate's  a-sparkin'  yer  sister!  Preacher!  Preacher! 
Bald-face!  Wall-eye!" 

"I  '11  lick  him  good  and  plenty  before  the  week's  out;  you 
see  if  I  do  n't,"  said  William  savagely. 

"Yes,"  replied  Nathan;  "and  I  reckon  if  Louise  tells  pa 
what  you  been  doin'  he  '11  take  a  hand  in  it,  too." 

"I  don't  keer,"  said  William  resolutely;  "I  jist  ain't  goin' 
t'  let  him  call  me  preacher!" 

And  he  meant  it,  too;  for  of  all  the  epithets  with  which 
Walnut  Hill  youths  taunted  the  Parson's  boys,  that  of  "preacher" 
was  regarded  by  both  Nathan  and  William  as  the  most  in- 
sulting. 

But  William  had  not  long  to  wait  for  revenge.  During 
the  afternoon  session  of  the  convention  he  got  even  with  Silas 
by  bending  and  planting  a  pin  under  him  while  the  congrega- 
tion stood  up  to  sing.  When  Silas  dropped  upon  it  he  straight- 
way rose  again  in  great  haste,  while  he  reached  round  and 
pulled  out  the  instrument  of  torture  with  a  most  gratifying 
expression  upon  his  freckled  face.  William  stuck  out  his 
tongue,  looked  as  much  like  a  frost  bitten  apple  as  possible,  and 
whispered,  "Goody,  goody!" 

Of  course  the  expected  "settlement"  with  the  Parson  came 
duly  upon  the  following  day;  but  owing  to  the  honors  gained 
by  William  in  "Life  Mcrnbership"  the  exercises  were  much 
easier  than  usual.  When  the  threshing  had  been  administered 
Parson  Flint  talked  long  to  convince  William  that  to  be  called 
"preacher"  was  t>y  no  means  insulting,  but  rather  a  great  honor. 
William,  as  in  duty  bound,  listened  to  his  arguments  attentively, 
but  he  was  by  no  means  convinced. 


r  r-viE 

T 


CHAPTER   VIII. 
"BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER." 

Parson  quoted  nothing  oftener  to  Nathan  and  Wil- 
liam than  the  old  adage,  "Evil  communications  cor- 
rupt good  manners;"  and  because  of  his  great  faith 
in  this  proverb  he  strove  hard  to  keep  them  "unspotted 
from  the  world."  But  alas  for  his  efforts!  The  boys  seemed  to 
draw  inspiration  for  mischief  from  the  very  air.  As  the  Apostle 
often  expressed  it,  they  were  "as  prone  to  evil  as  the  sparks  are 
to  fly  upward." 

But  Parson  Flint  was  not  a  man  to  be  discouraged  in  any 
good  cause,  and  especially  in  the  matters  of  family  discipline. 
He  hedged  the  boys  about  with  threats  and  commands,  striving 
with  pious  zeal  to  make  them  feel  a  foretaste  of  "the  wrath  to 
come"  when  they  went  astray.  The  limits  of  their  playground— 
when  indeed  they  ever  had  time  for  sport — were  the  parsonage 
fences;  notably  those  of  the  barn-yard.  If  they  ever  strayed 
beyond  these  it  was  when  the  Parson  was  off  on  his  circuit; 
and  as  he  was  frequently  absent,  the  boys  enjoyed  far  more 
liberty  than  he  would  otherwise  have  permitted. 

True  he  had  sometimes  ridden  upon  them  thus  outside  the 
"deadline"  of  his  wrath,  and  always  "laid  it  on"  heavily  for 
their  disobedience;  but  although  they  bawled  loudly,  promis- 
ing with  wails  and  tears  "never  to  do  so  again,"  they  seemed  to 

93 


94 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


'TOMP-TF.I.Y-TOMP-TII.Y." 


forget  with  marvelous  ease.    Theirs  was  a  case  of  "birds  of  a 

feather  flocking  together;"  and  the  stern  Parson,  failing  to  see 
it  in  the  light  of  a  natural  law,  was  much  vexed  and 
troubled  in  spirit. 

The  boys  had  two  boon  companions,  who  sought 
them  and  whom  they  in  turn  sought  at  every  oppor- 
tunity. These  cronies  were  Dick  Patterson  and  George 
Harris.  Such  playmates  were  all  that  any  reasonable 
boy  could  desire.  They  had  the  entire  village  for  a 
playground,  and  knew  everything  that  was  going  on. 
Besides  Dick  was  the  very  embodiment  of  high 
spirits,  and  George  was  a  veritable  clown. 
Neither  of  them  went  to  church  often,  and  they 
were  totally  ignorant  of  Class-meetings  and 
Life  Memberships.  But  Dick  could  whistle, 
sing,  dance,  and  fight,  while  George  was  a  marvel  of  funny 
conceits. 

George  and  Dick  were  their  "really  and  truly"  names  as 
William  expressed  it;  but  they  were  seldom  called  by  these 
titles.  Dick  was  known  as  "Tomp-tely-tomp-tily"  and  George 
responded  to  the  remarkable  nick-name  of  "Muckemtady."  To 
all  but  the  boys  themselves  of  course  these  ridiculous  names 
were  Greek.  "Muckemtady"  had  no  traceable  origin,  but  Dick's 
title  came  about  as  follows: 

We  have  said  that  this  youth  could  sing.  When  in  good 
luck  he  always  did  so,  and  with  his  few  wants  this  was  very 
often.  He  would  accompany  his  vocal  exercises  by  a  double 
shuffle  of  his  grimy  feet,  the  soles  of  which  in  summer  were 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER.  95 

tough  and  leathery.     Dick  had  no  great  variety  of  songs.     In 
fact  he  had  but  one,  of  which  we  quote  the  only  stanza. 

"Tomp-tely-tomp-tily,  tomp-tompe-tomp-tomp, 
Tomp-tely-tomp-tily-tomp-tompe-tomp-tomp; 
Tomp-tely-tomp-tily,  tomp-tompe-tomp-tompe, 
Tomp-tely-tomp-tily,  tomp-tompe-tomp-tomp." 

This  remarkable  ditty  expressed  all  the  sentiments  of  Dick's 
joyful  heart,  and  he  seldom  tried  any  other.  Of  course  it  was 
from  it  that  the  boy  had  derived  his  nick-name. 

Such  a  care-free,  jolly  companion  as  "Tomp-tely  tomp-tily" 
perfectly  fascinated  the  Parson's  boys;  and  with  the  exception 
of  his  marvelous  luck  in  playing  "keeps"  he  shed  sunlight  upon 
their  paths. 

"Muckemtady"  too  was  versatile  beyond  anything.  He 
was  always  "acting  the  fool"  as  the  Parson  disgustedly  said,  and 
doubtless  this  habit  was  what  rendered  him  a  chum  after  the 
boys'  own  hearts.  He  had  been  cut  out  for  the  chief  clown  in 
a  circus,  but  the  narrow  limits  of  his  village  life 
had  somewhat  dwarfed  the  pattern. 

Among  Walnut  Hill  youths  about  this  time 
there  was  in  vogue  a  new  dialect  called  "goose- 
latin."  Muckemtady  learned  it  first  and  afterwards 
taught  it  to  the  entire  juvenile  fraternity.  It  was 
very  simple,  the  only  feature  being  the  addition  of 
vis  to  the  syllables  and  ends  of  ordinary  words.  When 
Muckemtady  wished  to  ask,  Do  you  know  what  I 
am  saying?  he  would  put  it,  "Dovis  youvis  knowvis 
whavis  Ivis  avis  sayvisivis?" 


MUCKEMTADY. 


96  THE  P4RSON'S  BOYS. 

The  very  "foolishness"  of  this  word-butchery  found  in- 
stant response  in  the  hearts  of  the  Parson's  boys.  The  first  time 
the  Parson  heard  them  jabbering  it  he  asked  in  huge  disgust: 

"Why  do  n't  ye  talk  like  a  couple  of  edicts?" 

Among  his  many  other  wonderful  arts  Muckemtady  could 
entirely  reverse  the  natural  way  of  doing  things.  He  could  walk 
on  his  hands  like  an  acrobat;  could  look  "cross-eyed"  beyond 
anything  ever  heard  of ;  could  do  back  handsprings ;  could  drink 
nearly  a  quart  of  water,  and  then  rattle  it  in  his  capacious  stom- 
ach like  a  horse;  could  squat,  lock  his  hands  across  his  knees 
and  turn  over  twenty  times  in  any  direction.  And  stranger  than 
all  he  could  talk,  and  mostly  did  talk  while  drawing  in  his  breath 
instead  of  doing  it  in  the  usual  way.  At  the  same  time  he  would 
pick  up  a  nip  of  skin  on  his  throat  and  shake  his  Adam's  apple 
until  his  own  mother  could  hardly  have  recognized  his  tremolo 
tones. 

Nothing  made  him  happier  than  to  exhibit  these  tricks 
to  the  Parson's  admiring  boys,  and  they  in  turn  were  constant 
in  the  practice  of  them  all. 

When  the  Apostle  was  at  home,  however,  he  never  per- 
mitted either  Dick  or  Muckemtady  to  come  about  the  premises, 
and  in  his  absences  this  deprivation  made  their  presence  all  the 
more  welcome  to  Nathan  and  William.  It  was  useless  to  lec- 
ture upon  the  depravity  of  human  nature,  and  the  villainy  of 
George  and  Dick  in  particular;  they  were  positive  poles  to  the 
Parson's  negatived  offspring,  and  the  attraction  was  all  but 
irresistible. 

As  time  went  by  this  perpetual  battle  against  evil  caused 


BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER.  97 

the  Parson  great  worry.  The  "rod  of  correction"  seemed  to 
have  lost  some  of  its  reputed  virtue;  and  while  the  Parson  used 
this  old-fashioned  remedy  freely  and  prayed  much,  somehow 
he  must  have  been  weak  in  faith,  since  the  cause  of  his  wrest- 
ling did  not  grow  less.  Finally  he  began  to  look  forward  to- 
wards the  close  of  his  ministerial  year  with  secret  satisfaction. 
He  was  meditating  a  great  plan. 

Before  becoming  a  preacher  he  had  owned  a  good  farm 
in  the  then  thinly  settled  portion  of  Jefferson  county.  This 
property  he  had  sold  for  two  thousand  dollars,  and  the  amount 
had  been  put  out  at  good  interest.  As  we  shall  see,  the  Parson 
was  now  to  find  use  for  it. 

One  Saturday  about  the  middle  of  August  he  divided  the 
wood-pile  into  halves,  and  in  addition  laid  out  for  the  boys 
much  agricultural  job-work  in  the  acre-patch,  announcing  that 
he  expected  to  go  away  and  not  return  for  a  week.  That  after- 
noon Nathan  drove  him  to  Frankfort,  where  he  was  to  preach 
on  the  following  day,  and  the  boy  was  sent  back  home  with 
the  horse  and  buggy.  Frankfort  was  seven  miles  from  Walnut 
Hill,  and  Nathan  was  delighted  to  go,  for  the  trip  would  give 
him  a  chance  to  see  the  cars,  one  of  the  seven  wonders  of  the 
world  to  Walnut  Hill  youths. 

In  all  their  lives  the  Parson's  boys  had  seen  the  cars  but 
three  times,  and  they  talked  about  them  for  days  afterwards. 
William  spent  much  time  trying  to  construct  a  locomotive  out 
of  the  big  wooden  churn  and  some  stove-lids;  but  failing  in  this 
attempt  he  finally  converted  the  churn  into  a  cannon  by  driv- 
ing a  nail  through  the  side  for  a  vent.  No  one  but  his  mother 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


DROVE  A  NAIL 

THROUGH  THE 

SIDE. 


ever  knew  of  this  damage  to  the  old  family  butter-mill,  and 
she  filled  the  hole  with  a  rag,  keeping  the  discovery  to  herself 
for  obvious  reasons. 

In  point  of  mystery  and  wonder,  the  boys  re- 
garded a  locomotive  as  next  to  an  Aladdin's  lamp, 
and  the  sight  of  a  railroad  always  filled  them  with 
a  sort  of  awe.    The  telegraph  lines  they  did  not 
at   all   understand.      Upon    his    first 
sight  of  them,  William  mistook  their 
use  and  asked  "how  people  ever  hung 
their  clothes  that  high." 

When    the    Apostle    decided    to 
have  Nathan  drive  him  to  Frankfort 
where  he  was  to  take  the  train  for  his  intended  journey, 
William  pleaded  earnestly  that  he  might  go  along;  but 
the  shrewd  Parson  very  promptly  refused  him.    He  knew 
better  than  to  allow  the  young  reprobates  two  hours  to- 
gether when  they  were  not  under  the  eyes  of  some  older  person, 
so  Nathan  alone  was  permitted  to  accompany  him.     But  that 
exulting  urchin  counted  his  fortune  too  soon.     When  he  and 
the  Parson  had   reached  the  suburbs  of  Frankfort,  the  latter 
stopped  and  headed  Daniel  towards  home,  saying  coolly: 

"Now  see  if  ye  can  git  back  and  attend  to  yer  work  I  laid 
out  for  ye.  Let  the  horse  take  his  time,  and  feed  him  well  when 
ye  git  home." 

Thus  it  happened  that  Nathan  did  not  see  the  cars  at  all, 
•  and  he  was  most  bitterly  disappointed.  He  forgot  all  about 
the  Parson's  parting  words,  and  reached  home  in  something 
more  than  an  hour,  with  Daniel  in  a  lather  of  sweat. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
MOTHER'S  WAY. 

!  ^^^1  OME  now,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Flint  cheerily,  as  Nathan 
•  got  in  from  stabling  the  horse,  "put  in  and  get  all 

^<_>4  your  work  done;  then  you  can  have  the  rest  of  the 
time  for  your  own.  If  you  get  through  by  Tues- 
day I'll  take  you  somewhere." 

"Git  it  all  done  by  Tuesday!"  exclaimed  Nathan  in  a  spasm 
of  bitterness  and  disgust.  "W'y,  we  couldn't  finish  it  by  Christ- 
mas! He's  laid  out  half  the  woodpile,  an'  told  us  to  hoe  the 
whole  acre-field  besides." 

"Oh,  no-;  not  so  bad  as  that.  You  can  get  it  all  done  if 
you  work  hard,"  said  his  mother  encouragingly.  "Just  lean  to 
it  and  see  how  much  you  can  do  to-day.  I've  got  something 
real  nice  in  store  for  you  if  you  are  industrious." 

Of  course  they  began  to  tease  to  know  what  this  treat  was, 
but  she  shook  her  head  with  a  knowing  smile.  It  excited  their 
hopes  to  such  a  pitch  that  they  fell  to  work  with  a  zeal  that  they 
had  not  shown  since  the  day  before  the  Apostle's  pea-stick  hunt. 
This  time  they  entirely  reversed  the  usual  order  of  attack,  be- 
ginning with  the  biggest,  hardest  sticks  first,  so  as  to  have  the 
smaller  ones  to  taper  off  on.  Despite  dull  ax  and  saw  they  made 
a  very  hopeful  beginning,  and  were  still  "leaning  to  it"  when 
the  voice  of  Brother  Sisson  hailed  them  from  the  road. 

99 


IOO 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


"Go  for  it,  boys!"  he  exclaimed  in  kindly  tones.  ''That's 
the  way  I  got  my  start."  Then  perceiving  Nathan's  labored 
efforts,  he  asked,  "What 's  the  matter  with  your  saw?" 


BROTHER  SISSOK. 

"It 's  dull  and  got  all  the  set  out,"  was  Nathan's  reply. 

"Let  me  see  it  a  minute,"  said  Brother  Sisson. 

The  tool  was  handed  him  over  the  fence,  and  after  sight- 
ing down  the  blade  and  rubbing  his  broad  thumb  over  the  teeth 
he  said: 

"Well,  I  should  think  so!  Just  let  me  have  it  for  awhile; 
I'll  put  it  in  better  shape.  Come  over  for  it  in  half  an  hour." 


MOTHER'S  WAY. 


101 


When,  after  the  allotted  time,  Nathan  went  after  it,  Brother 
Sisson  had  put  the  saw  in  fine  condition,  and  the  boy's  evident 
delight  seemed  to  please  him  greatly.  Thanking  the  good  man 
very  earnestly,  Nathan  started  home,  but  spied  a  huge  maul 
lying  by  the  gate.  After  eyeing  it  for  a  minute  he  asked  diffi- 
dently: 

"Can  I  borry  yer  maul  a  little  while,  Mr.  Sisson?  I'll 
bring  it  back  this  evening  if  you  want  it." 

"Take  it  right  along,"  was  the  amused  reply;  "but  you'll 
find  it  more  than  you  want  to  tackle  I  guess." 

Nathan  had  conceived  a  great  idea,  however,  and  shoul- 
dering the  unwieldy  prize,  he  trudged  off  home. 

"Whachu  goin'  to  do  with  that?"  asked  William  in  great 
astonishment,  as  his  brother  pitched  the  maul  over  the  lot 
fence  and  climbed  nimbly  after  it. 

"I'll  show  you,"  replied  Nathan  knowingly.  "You  jist 
take  and  cut  that  pole  half-way  in  two  all  along,  and  then  give 
it  to  me." 

William  set  about  this,  while  Nathan  plied  his  newly  sharp- 
ened saw  with  genuine  delight.  When  finally  the  notched  pole 
was  ready  he  put  a  chunk  of  wood 
under  one  end,  and  brought  the  maul 
down  upon  the  notch  next  to  it.  To 
William's  great  satisfaction  the 
stick  broke  off  with  a  loud  snap, 
flying  high  in  the  air.  Thus  the 
device  saved  much  hard  chopping. 

About  four  o'clock  a  cautious 


102  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

whistle  from  the  barn  electrified  the  industrious  boys.  They 
ran  to  see  who  it  was,  and  found  "Tomp-tely-tomp-tily"  am- 
bushing outside. 

"Whacher  doin'?"  he  asked  cautiously. 

uChoppin'  wood;  whacher  reckkon?" 

"Where's  yer  dad?" 

"  He  's  gone  off,  an'  won't  be  back  for  a  week." 

"Whacher  choppin'  wood  fer  then?" 

"Cause  we  got  to;  and  besides  if  we  git  all  our  work  done 
by  Tuesday  ma  's  a-goin'  to  take  us  somewhere.  She  said  §o." 

"Whereto?" 

"We  dunno  yet;  but  it's  somewheres.    Mebby  to  a  picnic." 

"Say,  lemme  go  'long." 

"If  ma  says  you  may." 

"You  go  an'  ast  her.    I  '11  help  you  chop  wood  if  y'  will." 

Nathan  hurried  away;  but  his  mother  looked  troubled  at 
the  request  and  said  irresolutely: 

"Your  pa  would  n't  want  that  boy  around  here,  Nathan." 

"But  that's  jist  fer  playin',  ma,"  pleaded  Nathan  earnestly. 
"Tomp-tely-tomp-tily  will  help  us  do  our  work;  we  jist  can't 
git  it  all  done  by  ourselves." 

This  settled  the  question.  His  mother  gave  her  consent, 
but  felt  almost  guilty  as  she  recollected  the  Parson's  commands. 
However,  when  the  delighted  Nathan  went  whooping  out  to 
his  work  with  three  big  apples  she  gave  him,  she  felt  almost 
justified  in  thus  breaking  the  Parson's  strict  rules. 

"Come  on!'  shouted  Nathan  loudly.  "Ma  says  you 
may." 


MOTHER'S  WAY.  103 

The  two  waiting  boys  came  racing  up,  and  Dick  received 
his  apple  with  the  usual  song  and  dance.  When  they  had  eaten 
the  very  cores,  an  attack  was  made  upon  the  wood  that  left  little 
doubt  about  their  mother's  promised  reward. 

Sunday  came  and  went  in  unusual  quiet.  When  the  sun 
was  almost  setting,  Mrs.  Flint  took  the  boys  for  a  walk,  and 
went  to  the  Parson's  familiar  place  of  prayer  in  the  copse.  Here 
where  none  could  see  them  she  poured  out  her  soul  to  heaven. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  be  saddened  by  some  strange,  dread  fore- 
cast of  the  future  that  rendered  life  a  burden  grievous  to  be 
borne.  It  was  not  because  her  lot  was  one  of  toil;  in  spite  of 
its  dreary  round,  work  was  a  comfort.  It  was  a  deep  pathos; 
an  undercurrent  of  the  poetic  melancholy  which  found  voice 
in  the  prophets  and  Psalmist  of  old.  She  prayed  from  the  depth 
of  a  sorrow-laden  spirit,  and  lifted  her  streaming  face  to  the 
darkening  skies  above  her,  that  infinite  "home  of  the  soul"  to- 
ward which  countless  eyes  gaze  when  hearts  ache,  and  earth 
seems  a  desert  to  the  panting  toiler.  There  was  little  thought 
for  herself;  it  was  all  for  her  loved  ones.  She  was  not  her  own, 
but  "bought  with  a  price."  Her  talk  with  the  kneeling  boys 
at  her  side  seemed  all  love,  and  her  piety  was  a  sweet  exhala- 
tion of  soul. 

When  mother  prayed  the  boys  repented  in  detail  of  every 
sin  they  could  remember.  Her  tender  arms  pressed  each  re- 
pentant head  to  her  bosom;  and  as  they  knelt  in  the  rustling 
leaves,  while  katydids  creaked  in  the  trees  and  whip-poor-wills 
sounded  mournful  accompaniments,  they  wept,  saddened,  yet 
uplifted  by  her  sweet  devotion. 


io4  THE  PERSON'S  BOYS. 

On  Monday  morning  the  boys  were  up  bright  and  early 
to  complete  their  task  before  the  sun  grew  hot.  When  it  was 
all  done,  they  piled  the  wood  up  in  a  great  rick,  and  looked 
with  pride  upon  such  a  monument  of  honest  toil.  Then  they 
seized  their  hoes  and  went  to  the  acre-patch.  To  their  intense 
satisfaction  they  found  this  a  much  less  formidable  job  than 
it  had  seemed.  Working  rapidly,  by  night  the  ugly  barrier 
raised  by  the  Parson  between  them  and  leisure  was  completely 
broken  down.  They  had,  as  they  believed,  six  whole  days  ahead 
before  his  frigid  face  would  chill  their  warm  impulses  and  his 
harsh  commands  sound  in  their  ears. 

During  frequent  visits  to  the  cistern  for  water,  they  noticed 
/}  that  Mrs.  Flint  was  unusually  busy.  She  was  baking  pies, 

and  doughnuts,  while  something  that  smelled  a  great 
deal  like  chicken  was  boiling  in  a  pot.  With  their  knowledge 
of  her  ways,  they  naturally  connected  all  this  with  her  promise. 
Up  to  this  time,  however,  she  had  not  told  them  anything  defi- 
nite of  her  plans;  but  they  were  not  uneasy;  many  a  time  before 
they  had  trusted  to  her  goodness  of  heart  and  had  never 
been  disappointed.  That  night  she  said  to  them  kindly: 

"Wash  your  feet,  boys,  and  go  to  bed  soon.  You  are  tired, 
and  might  have  to  get  up  early  to-morrow  morning." 

In  a  little  time  they  kissed  her  good-night  and  went  to  bed, 
too  tired  from  their  hard  day's  work  to  dream.  At  daybreak 
next  morning  they  were  wakened  by  her  voice  at  the  bed-room 
door: 

"Come,  my  little  men,  jump  up.  Breakfast  is  nearly  ready, 
and  you  must  feed  the  horse  if  you  want  to  go  fishing!" 


MOTHER'S  WAY.  105 

This  was  her  secret.  The  boys  raised  a  regular  war-whoop 
and  jumped  out  of  bed  in  a  tangle.  While  Nathan  hopped  about 
with  one  foot  in  his  trousers'  leg,  William  threw  a  pillow  at 
him  and  knocked  him  over  a  chair.  They  flew  to  the  barn  and 
fed  Daniel,  who  greatly  to  his  vexation  was  made  to  paw  twice 
for  every  mouthful  of  corn  he  got. 

Mrs.  Flint  had  already  milked  old  Whitey,  and  she  was 
grazing  industriously  upon  the  commons.  They  went  back  to 
the  house  "half-hammon"  and  bolted  breakfast,  hardly  stop- 
ping to  chew.  Meanwhile  they  discussed  as  well  as  they  could 
the  wonderful  things  to  be  done  during  the  day.  Their  mother 
was  packing  a  large  lunch-basket  with  the  previous  day's  cook- 
ing, so  the  boys  knew  they  would  remain  at  the  river  until 
evening.  Then,  too,  she  had  bought  them  new  hooks  and  lines, 
"real  store  tackle,"  and  they  nearly  smothered  her  with  hugs 
and  kisses. 

While  Nathan  hitched  Daniel  to  the  two-seated  carriage, 
William  set  off  at  a  gallop  to  warn  Dick  Patterson.  They  soon 
came  back  together,  Dick  eating  a  chunk  of  corn-pone  and  a 
slice  of  bacon  as  he  loped  along.  In  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Flint 
he  was  a  trifle  shy  at  first,  but  her  motherly  way  soon  reassured 
him;  so  he  began  to  sing  his  familiar  song,  and  danced  the  ac- 
companiment until  he  ran  a  splinter  into  his  great  toe  and 
stopped  for  repairs. 

Daniel  did  not  lag  this  time;  and  while  swinging  his  bony 
legs  along  the  dusty  road,  urged  occasionally  by  a  keen  switch, 
he  probably  wondered  what  on  earth  had  happened  to  demand 
this  unusual  speed.  But  when  at  last  he  drew  up  near  the 


io6 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


Bend,  and  was  tethered  where  he  could  eat  his  fill  of  sweet, 
dewy  grass,  he  sighed  in  great  content. 

Mrs.  Flint  knew  the  rare  art  of  letting  joy  alone.  She  had 
no  fretful  cautions  to  give,  and  the  boys  were  not  detained  by 
any  unexpected  jobs.  In  a  trice  they  had  fixed  everything 
snugly  and  set  off  shouting  for  the  Bend,  where  but  a  few  weeks 
before  they  had  been  so  bitterly  disappointed. 


MOTHER'S  WAY. 


107 


"Tomp-tely-tomp-tily"  was  an  adept  at  angling,  and  soon 
taught  the  boys  many  things  about  it  they  had  never  known. 
Everything  went  delightfully.  Fish — big  ones,  too — bit  greed- 
ily, and  the  eager  boys  were  kept  busy.  They  set  two  or  three 
poles  with  long  lines  to  reach  the  middle  of  the  channel ;  here 
Dick  told  them  the  big  catfish  lay,  and  soon  one  of  the  rods 
began  to  sway  under  the  weight  of  a  ten-pounder.  When  this 
struggling  prize  was  landed  the  boys  were  fairly  wild. 

By  half-past  eleven  o'clock  they  were  ravenously  hun- 
gry. Two  dozen  fine  fish  had  rewarded  their  sport,  and  they 
concluded  to  go  back  and  hunt  up  Mrs.  Flint.  She  had  found 
a  cool,  grassy  spot  under  a  wide-spreading  oak,  and  built  a 
fire.  Upon  this  she  cooked  enough  of  their  fish  "to  fill  them 
up  to  the  neck,"  as  William  said,  and  they  had  a  feast  that 
would  have  shaken  the  habits  of  a  stoic. 

Of  course  it  was  the  sweeter  for  their  surroundings.  They 
were  out  in  the  glorious  forest;  all  about  'hem  rain-crows  were 
"chorking,"  wood-peckers  drumming,  and  staid  king-fishers 
might  sometimes  be  seen  perched  on  a  bough  overhanging  the 
river.  Occasionally  one  of  these  watchful  fellows  would  dart 
down  with  noisy  chatter  after  some  hapless  minnow  that  turned 
its  silvery  side  up  to  the  sun.  Their  hearts  were  brimming 
with  the  fresh  spirit  of  the  woods,  and  every  sense  was  sharp- 
ened. Not  less  did  the  boys  enjoy  it  because  their  mother 
was  there;  for  her  dear  face  was  alight  with  the  happiness 
which  overflowed  the  chattering  urchins. 

"Tomp-tely-tomp-tily"  got  his  full  share  of  everything, 
and  ate  as  if  he  never  expected  to  get  another  meal  as  long  as 


io8 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


he  lived.  When  dinner  was  over  and  the  things  put  away,  the 
boys  lolled  about  in  the  shade  for  an  hour  and  listened  to  some 
very  entertaining  stories  of  Mrs.  Flint's  life  down  at  Puncheon 

Camp.  This  was  then  a  wild 
country,  full  of  all 
kinds  of  game  that  de- 
^  light  a  hunter's  heart. 
Then  they  threw  some 
lines  in  the  deep-river 
channel,  and  leaving 
Mrs.  Flint  to  watch 
them,  set  off  on  a  mile 
tramp  up  the  river. 
During  the  excursion 
they  saw  at  one  point 
something  that  looked 
like  a  big  crate  anchored  a  little  distance  out  from  the  bank. 
It  proved  to  be  a  fish-trap,  and  in  it  was  a  grinnel  fully  twenty 
inches  in  length.  Dick  swam  out  to  the  trap  and  took  the  fish 
in  as  spoils;  he  said  it  would  soon  have  escaped  anyhow. 

Upon  their  return  William  ran  across  a  huge  water-moc- 
casin, which  was  coiled  behind  a  log  over  which  he  jumped. 
Upon  catching  sight  of  the  ugly  reptile  he  screeched,  and  "riz 
agin,"  as  he  told  it,  making  a  greater  leap  than  he  had  ever 
taken  before.  Slowly  uncoiling  its  rusty  body,  the  snake  started 
for  the  river,  but  Dick  soon  killed  it.  Then  tying  a  strip  of 
hickory  bark  around  its  neck,  the  boys  dragged  it  with  them 
to  the  ford.  When  they  came  in  sight  of  her,  Mrs.  Flint  beck- 


LOI.LED  ABOUT  IK  THE  SHADE. 


MOTHER'S  WAY.  109 

oned  them  to  hurry  and  they  responded  at  top  speed.  She 
told  them  that  something  had  been  pulling  at  one  of  their  fish- 
lines  for  half  an  hour,  and  upon  hauling  it  in,  they  were  aston- 
ished to  find  what  looked  like  another  snake  dangling  and 
squirming  upon  the  hook.  Dick  informed  them  that  it  was 
an  eel.  It  was  the  first  they  had  ever  seen,  and  quite  as  slip- 
pery as  it  is  said  to  be. 

In  the  cool  of  the  evening  they  started  for  home,  swelling 
with  pride  over  their  trophies,  and  full  to  the  brim  with  con- 
tent in  their  day's  sport.  In  later  years  they  had  many  a  fishing 
excursion,  but  never  one  which  for  pure  fun  and  unmixed 
happiness  quite  equalled  that  with  their  mother  down  at  Big 
Bend. 

During  the  next  few  days  the  boys  followed  their  own  idle 
devices,  and  finally  the  time  began  to  drag.  On  Saturday,  how- 
ever, Muckemtady  signaled  them  from  the  barn.  He  had  the 
body  of  an  old  fiddle  which  he  had  picked  up  somewhere  about 
town.  It  was  the  first  instrument  of  the  kind  that  the  boys  had 
ever  handled,  and  consequently  was  as  wonderful  to  them  as 
a  Barnum's  talking  machine.  After  long  examination  Nathan 
proposed  to  trade  for  it.  Muckemtady  had  been  waiting  for 
this  proposal;  so  Nathan  gave  his  top,  and  William  contrib- 
uted three  glass  marbles,  and  the  fiddle  changed  hands. 

Muckemtady  told  them  they  could  make  strings  with  pa- 
per-cord if  they  did  n't  stretch  them  too  tight.  This  was  im- 
mediately tried,  and  as  they  had  no  bow,  the  former  owner 
showed  them  how  to  make  one  with  a  hazel  switch  and  a  wisp 
of  hair  from  Daniel's  tail.  Rubbing  this  rude  bow  with  rosin 


no  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

obtained  from  his  mother's  fruit-canning  supplies,  Nathan 
eagerly  applied  it  to  the  fiddle-strings.  Both  he  and  William 
were  electrified;  there  arose  a  sound  much  like  the  miaulings 
of  some  wandering  midnight  cat. 

In  truth,  both  the  boys  inherited  a  natural  love  for  music 
from  the  Parson  whose  revival  singing  was  one  of  his  greatest 
successes.  But  other  than  in  "spiritual  hymns  and  songs"  the 
musical  art  had  never  been  extensively  cultivated  in  the  Apos- 
tle's family,  and  some  forms  of  it  were  entirely  forbidden. 

So  absorbed  did  the  ravished  boys  become  in  their  novel 
occupation  that  they  failed  to  hear  a  creak  of  the  lot-gate, 
and  both  were  nearly  struck  silly  when  recalled  to  earth  by  a 
well-known  voice,  whose  owner  they  supposed  to  be  miles 
away.  The  tones  were  full  of  menace,  and  had  a  chilling  rasp: 

"Young  man,  where  did  ye  git  that  thing?" 

In  his  sudden  terror  Nathan  made  a  foolish  effort  to  con- 
ceal the  "thing,"  but  of  course  it  was  too  late.  Then  the  voice 
spoke  again,  and  this  time  louder: 

"Did  ye  hear  me;  where  did  ye  git  that  thing?" 

"From  a  boy,"  replied  Nathan  feebly. 

"Well,  do  you  see  if  ye  can  teck  it  back  to  the  boy:  and 
if  I  ever  ketch  ye  with  sich  an  article  ag'in,  I  '11  warm  the  wax 
in  ycr  ears." 

The  dream  had  faded.  For  the  first  time  in  the  entire 
affair  the  boys  really  believed  that  they  had  been  doing 
something  wrong.  They  felt, 

"Like  thief  o'ertakcn  in  his  track, 
With  stolen  chattels  on  his  back." 


MOTHER'S  WAY.  in 

Nathan  crawled  weakly  over  the  fence  to  hunt  Muckem- 
tady,  and  William,  with  fluttering  heart  and  trembling  legs, 
sneaked  away  to  the  house.  Muckemtady  would  not  trade 
back.  Nathan  used  much  persuasion  and  some  threats,  but 
to  no  purpose.  Finally  he  laid  the  fiddle  down  by  the  road- 
side and  went  slowly  home,  occasionally  looking  back  with 
great  longing,  and  grinding  his  teeth  with  rage  and  shame. 

The  boys  had  acquired  a  perfectly  natural  habit  of  con- 
cealment; it  had  arisen  from  a  long  series  of  unpleasant  expe- 
riences in  honesty  and  the  results  of  telling  the  truth.  In  those 
stern  old  Methodist  days  "fiddles"  were  regarded  as  "sinful 
instruments."  The  Parson  verily  believed  them  to  possess  a 
large  measure  of  the  Satanic  influences  supposed  to  belong  to 
"the  Father  of  Lies."  Of  course  he  never  stopped  to  compare 
them  with  the  more  scriptural  "harps"  believed  to  fill  heaven 
with  glorious  music. 

But  serious  as  was  this  fiddle  episode,  it  was  quickly  for- 
gotten in  a  very  exciting  revelation.  The  Parson's  mysterious 
trip  was  at  last  explained;  he  had  bought  a  farm.  It  was 
located  a  hundred  miles  away,  and  lay  wholly  in  the  woods. 
He  had  purchased  the  land  from  a  railroad  company,  at  a 
wonderful  bargain,  of  which  he  boasted  mightily.  It  had  left 
him  money  enough  to  build  a  good  house,  buy  a  few  head  of 
stock  and  some  farming  implements,  so  that  they  could  start 
in  well  equipped.  The  Parson  was  full  of  genuine  enthusi- 
asm. Before  he  was  called  to  preach  he  had  been  accounted 
a  good  farmer;  and  for  these  reasons  the  new  step  had  stirred 
within  him  many  pleasant  memories. 


ii2  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

He  gave  a  glowing  description  of  the  land;  how  it  lay; 
how  rich  and  deep  the  soil  was;  how  it  was  watered  by  a  fine 
branch,  and  what  quantities  of  cord-wood  might  be  cut  from 
its  tall  timber.  The  entire  family  listened  with  intense  interest, 
the  older  members  now  and  then  asking  various  questions. 
When  the  story  was  finished  the  discontented  girls  grumbled 
something  about  "being  buried  in  the  woods  for  the  balance 
of  their  lives,"  but  Nathan  and  William  began  to  dream  of 
wonders. 

The  wily  Apostle  so  fascinatingly  portrayed  the  raising  of 
pigs,  calves,  corn,  pumpkins,  etc.,  that  really  the  prospect  seemed 
glowing,  and  appeared  to  point  an  ideal  life.  The  boys  had 
never  been  initiated  into  any  of  these  sublime  mysteries,  so  they 
were  easily  beguiled,  and  began  to  lay  all  sorts  of  extravagant 
plans. 

Among  other  things  the  Apostle  said  that  he  had  set  men 
to  work  clearing  off  a  field  for  cultivation;  also  arrangements 
had  been  made  to  have  a  house  built  as  soon  as  possible,  thus 
preparing  for  the  family's  coming.  The  farm  lay  within  four 
miles  of  Hightown,  a  railroad  station,  where  the  Parson  said 
they  could  find  ready  market  for  all  the  produce  they  might  raise. 

It  was  then  known  that  before  making  this  trip  he  had 
consulted  his  ^'Presiding  Elder,"  and  arrangements  had  been 
made,  so  that  at  the  close  of  his  present  year  he  should  be  ap- 
pointed to  the  circuit  upon  which  this  prospective  farm  was 
situated.  He  would  then  rent  out  the  town  parsonage  and  live 
on  his  own  property. 

All  these  things  grew  more  and  more  in  the  imagination 


MOTHER'S  WAY.  113 

of  the  boys,  and  were  full  of  vague,  magnificent  promise.  They 
had  never  lived  on  any  kind  of  a  farm,  much  less  one  in  the 
woods,  new  and  full  of  stumps.  All  their  notions  of  rural  life 
were  based  upon  visits  made  with  the  Parson  to  his  country 
parishioners.  Here  they  had  always  been  feasted  upon  the 
best  to  be  had;  notably  poultry.  For  this  diet  they  had  inher- 
ited a  natural  taste;  and  in  their  inexperienced  minds  farm  life 
was  synonymous  with  a  perpetual  mess  of  chicken. 

But  there  was  great  craft  in  this  new  enterprise  of  the 
Parson.  He  wished  to  remove  these  troublesome  youngsters 
from  "evil  communications,"  and  knew  there  was  no  surer  way 
than  to  retire  them  to  rural  life.  On  this  woods-farm  they 
would  be  completely  isolated.  Besides,  they  would  learn  use- 
ful habits,  and  in  time  be  able  to  add  considerably  to  the  fam- 
ily's scanty  revenues. 

"There  are  a  good  many  wuss  things  than  livin'  on  a 
farm,"  he  rejoined  in  reply  to  the  girls'  grumbling. 

As  for  his  wife  no  one  knew  what  she  thought  of  it.  She 
was  submissive  to  any  plan  proposed  by  her  imperious  husband. 

The  six  weeks  before  "Conference"  and  the  end  of  the 
pastoral  year  passed  quickly.  A  week  after  that  assembly  met 
the  boys  read  among  a  long  list  of  appointments  printed  in 
"The  Methodist  Christian  Advocate"  what  all  of  the  family 
had  expected  to  see: 

"Hightown  Circuit Josiah  Flint." 

Three  days  later  the  Apostle  returned.  Then  came  the 
old  excitement  and  hard  work  of  moving,  and  the  eager  boys 
set  their  faces  toward  a  new  and  unfamiliar  life. 


CHAPTER  X. 
NEW   SCENES. 

OF  the  Methodist  itinerant  it  is  strictly  true  that  he 
"has  here  no  abiding  city,  but  seeks  one  to  come." 
Yet  this  is  not  always  such  a  calamity  as  it  might 
seem.     There  is  some  compensation  in  every  phase 
of  existence,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  to  offset  the  apparent  mis- 
fortunes of  the  wandering  Methodist  preacher's  life. 

As  before  stated,  Parson  Flint  was  a  preacher  of  the  pio- 
neer pattern.  In  these  latter  days  he  could  have  succeeded  but 
poorly.  He  was  too  domineering;  too  unskilled  in  the  cour- 
tesies of  life,  and  more  than  all,  he  sadly  lacked  what  is  called 
"book-learning."  However,  he  had  a  strong  and  aggressive 
mind,  being  full  of  restless  energy.  Yet  somehow  he  never 
remained  more  than  two  years  on  any  charge,  and  when  he 
moved  he  left  behind  a  few  staunch  friends,  but  many  bitter 
enemies. 

This  was  perhaps  the  fault  of  a  too  puritanical,  rigorous 
manner,  but  the  Parson  was  hardly  aware  of  it.  In  the  midst 
of  the  storms  his  overbearing  conduct  raised  he  contented  him- 
self with  a  passage  of  Scripture,  "I  came  not  to  send  peace, 
but  a  sword."  If  this  was  a  legitimate  purpose,  certainly  Par- 
son Flint  was  very  successful. 

114 


NEW  SCENES.  115 

In  his  earnest  life  religion  meant  everything,  and  he  forced 
the  topic  upon  everyone's  attention.  His  best  friends,  how- 
ever, often  thought  him  unfortunate  in  the  kind  of  piety  most 
valued  by  him,  and  were  sure  he  was  so  in  his  way  of  presenting 
it.  But  whatever  Walnut  Hill  people  might  have  thought  or 
felt  about  his  departure,  it  was  certain  that  the  Parson  himself 
experienced  only  deep  satisfaction.  When  the  last  load  of 
household  goods  started  on  its  way  he  followed  with  a  double 
star  of  hope  at  the  end  of  the  journey— a  new  circuit  and  a  new 
farm. 

Full  of  excitement  and  glowing  speculation,  the  boys  were 
to  ride  with  one  of  the  wagon-drivers;  and  with  the  exception 
of  "Tomp-tely-tomp-tily"  and  "Muckemtady"  they  looked  the 
last  upon  the  village  without  a  single  regret. 

Early  in  the  afternoon 'of  the  third  day  the  teams  arrived 
at  Hightown.  The  journey  had  been  uneventful.  But  a  single 
episode  enlivened,  its  progress.  William  grew  sleepy  with  the 
slow  pace  and  fell  from  his  seat,  damaging  his  nose,  with  which 
he  tried  to  plow  up  dirt  in  the  hard  road. 

The  wagons  drew  up  before  a  low,  weather-beaten  house 
in  a  dingy,  dismal  yard.  Most  of  this  enclosure  was  knee  deep 
in  dog-fennel  and  "jimpson"  weeds.  In  front  there  was  a  rick- 
ety board  fence,  which  \vas  flanked  by  rotten  rail  wings  that 
extended  back  about  two  hundred  feet,  helping  to  make  a  barn- 
lot;  and  in  this  was  a  mournful  apology  for  a  stable,  near  which 
was  a  straw-covered  cow-shed. 

The  driver  told  the  boys  that  the  shanty  in  the  yard  was  the 
parsonage.  They  instantly  looked  for  a  woodpile,  and  saw 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


only  the  former  place  of"  one  outside  the  fence.  It  was 
marked  by  a  rotting  pile  of  chips,  but  not  a  stick  of  wood 
was  in  sight. 

A  more  desolate,  poverty-stricken  kennel  than  the  parson- 
age would  be  hard  to  picture.  The  boys  made  quick  explora- 
tion of  the  entire  premises  and  felt  profoundly  thankful  that 
they  were  going  .to  live  on  the  farm;  at  least  they  thought  so. 
But  this  consolation  soon  vanished;  the  Parson  came  up  and 
began  to  help  the  drivers  to  unload  the  wagons.  Then  the  boys 
learned  that  they  should  not  go  to  the  farm  for  several  months, 
as  the  house  was  not  yet  even  begun. 

When  they  gazed  upon  the  desolate  premises  the  poor 
girls  raved,  and  even  the  patient  mother  shed  silent  tears.  But 
realizing  that  this  was  useless  woe  they  soon  regained  their 
composure.  As  for  the  Parson  he  had  long  before  "set  his 
affections  upon  things  above,  and  not  upon  things  on  the  earth," 
so  he  was  very  little  disturbed.  Seeing  their  grief,  he  even 
tried  to  soothe  the  feelings  of  the  girls  with  a  Scriptural  quota- 
tion about  the  "lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life,"  but  Eu- 
nice replied  savagely  that  some  people  took  more 
pride  in  their  disgusting  poverty  than  others  do  in 
riches.  This  so  snubbed  the  Parson  that  he  made 
no  further  comments. 

With  their  accustomed  energy  the  family  soon 
completely     revolutionized     this     forbidding    place. 
The  Apostle  mended  the   fences,  mowed  down  the 
rank  growth  of  weeds  and  repainted  the  house.     By 
much  scrubbing  and  cleaning  the  girls  renovated 


=-^?2- 


MOWED  DOWN  THE  WEEDS. 


NEW  SCENES.  117 

the  inside  of  the  dwelling,  and  a  month  of  toil  rendered  it  a 
passably  comfortable  place  to  occupy. 

It  must  be  said  that  Hightown  was  an  overgrown  village 
and  had  a  numerous  Methodist  fraternity.  The  town  itself 
was  what  is  known  in  Methodism  as  a  "Station,"  and  was  not 
part  of  the  Parson's  circuit. 

The  local  pulpit  was  filled  by  a  very  spruce-looking  min- 
ister, who  wore  a  long  black  coat,  white  tie  and  "stove-pipe" 
hat.  He  had  a  strong  "Episcopal"  flavor,  with  but  little  Meth- 
odist appearance.  This  gentleman's  home  was  a  model  of  ele- 
gance and  comfort,  making  the  Parson's  mean  abode  more 
unsightly  by  contrast. 

When  the  long  siege  of  house-cleaning  and  remodeling 
was  ended,  life  in  the  Apostle's  household  fell  into  its  usual 
routine.  Then  the  thoughts  of  all  turned  with  real  longings 
toward  the  farm.  One  of  the  Parson's  appointments  was  situ- 
ated within  a  mile  or  two  of  his  new  purchase;  and  when  about 
three  weeks  after  his  arrival  in  Hightown  business  called  him 
to  this  place,  he  made  it  an  opportunity  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
farm  itself. 

Of  course,  when  the  boys  learned  where  he  was  going  they 
were  eager  to  accompany  him;  he  readily  consented  to  this, 
and  soon  they  were  on  the  way.  Half  an  hour  out  of  town  they 
reached  a  dense  forest.  Fall  had  well  begun  and  already  the 
coloring  leaves  indicated  near  approach  of  winter.  After  a 
tedious  drive  of  two  miles  more,  over  a  rough  road,  they  came 
to  a  small  post-oak  flat,  where  the  Parson  looked  carefully 
around  and  called  out:  "Whoa,  Daniel!" 


u8 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


Then  he  pointed  to  a  blazed  tree  near  the"  road  and  told 
the  wondering  boys  that  it  marked  the  eastern  boundary  of  his 
land.  The  two  green  youths  were  astonished.  William  asked 
innocently  where  the  farm  was,  and  why  there  was  no  fence,  to 
which  the  Apostle  replied  that  the  clearing  was  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  further  on  yet,  but  that  they  would  soon  reach  it.  In 
a  little  time  they  drove  on  and  soon  came  to  a  three-acre  clear- 
ing where  a  man  was  chopping,  and  all  about  him  were  piled 
long  wind-rows  of  brush  from  the  timber  he  had  felled. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Robinson!  Anybody  living  hereabouts?" 
called  the  Parson. 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  Flint;  leastways,  nobody  but  me  and  my 
old  womern,"  replied  the  wood-chopper. 

At  these  words  the  boys  began  to  scan  the  clearing  for  a 

house.  At  the  far  side  they 

~ 

discovered  a  cabin  which 
seemed  to  have  been  made 
from  old  logs,  although  it 
had  a  new  clap-board  roof. 
Afterwards  they  found  that 
the  logs  had  belonged  to  a 
farmer  who  lived  upon  the 
edge  of  the  prairie  near  by, 
and  the  Parson  had  bought 
them.  By  winding  about 
through  the  brush  heaps,  old 
Daniel  finally  reached  this 
shack,  in  the  door  of  which 

FIRST  VIEW  OF  THE  FARM. 


,A< 


NEW  SCENES.  119 

stood  a  fat,  blowsy  woman,  chewing  a  snuff-stick.  The  Parson 
informed  this  female  that  he  was  the  owner  of  the  place,  and 
she  immediately  set  about  making  preparations  for  the  meal 
that  always  followed  the  preacher's  coming.  When  the  Par- 
son had  unhooked  and  tethered  Daniel  he  seized  an  ax,  di- 
rected the  boys  to  follow  him  and  set  off  to  help  Mr.  Robin- 
son. In  a  little  time  he  was  dealing  heavy  blows  upon  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  tree  that  man  was  cutting  down,  uttering  loud 
grunts  with  every  fall  of  the  ax.  Presently  the  giant  oak  came 
crashing  down,  and  the  Apostle  said  briskly: 

"Here  's  work  for  you,  boys;  haul  off  yer  coats,  and  as  we 
trim  off  the  brush  you  pile  it  up.  Some  night  we  '11  have  a 
big  bonfire." 

By  this  time  the  Parson  was  much  flushed  with  his  exer- 
tions, and  the  sweat  running  into  his  eyes  had  made  them  very 
red.  He  always  did  everything  with  a  rush,  and  often  tired 
himself  out  needlessly.  He  preached,  chopped  and  threshed 
the  boys  with  much  the  same  gestures. 

The  boys  set  to  work  and  kept  at  it  manfully  until  a  shout 
from  the  cabin  announced  noontime.  Then  they  had  their  first 
meal  on  the  farm.  William  was  properly  disgusted.  There 
was  no  chicken  upon  the  table;  and  indeed  none  about  the  prem- 
ises. Keen  hunger  only  could  have  made  them  relish  the  black 
coffee,  cornbread  and  strips  of  bacon  that  formed  the  major 
part  of  the  meal. 

When  they  had  eaten,  the  boys  set  out  to  explore  this  novel 
farm,  while  the  Parson  was  preaching  a  sermonet  to  Mr.  Robin- 
son upon  the  sinfulness  of  tobacco  using.  That  worthy  was 


120  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

puffing  at  his  pipe,  assenting  to  all  the  Parson  said,  but  bewail- 
ing the  "holt"  tobacco  had  got  on  his  constitution. 

Nathan  and  William  marveled  much  to  find  what  manner 
of  farm  this  much-boasted  place  was.  It  had  neither  fences, 
barn,  stock,  nor  fowls.  "The  fine  branch"  mentioned  by  the 
Parson  was  but  a  shallow  affair,  and  at  this  season  had  no  water 
save  in  a  few  holes,  and  these  were  a  foot  deep  in  mud  at  the 
bottom. 

The  Parson's  shout  soon  recalled  them  to  work,  and  he 
left  to  transact  his  pastoral  business  while  they  went  to  piling 
brush.  About  two  hours  before  sundown  he  came  back  and 
they  returned  home,  utterly  disgusted  with  the  farming  pros- 
pect before  them.  But  when  they  had  described  it  all  in  de- 
tail to  their  mother,  she  put  on  a  brave  face  and  said  confi- 
dently: 

"Never  mind,  boys;  we'll  change  all  that  fast  enough 
when  we  move  out  there." 

The  following  forenoon  a  huge  load  of  cord-wood  was 
delivered  from  the  farm,  and  piled  up  outside  the  fence  by 
the  ancient  chip-pile.  There  was  no  saw-buck  upon  the  prem- 
ises, so  the  Parson  made  one  out  of  four  stakes  driven  into  the 
ground,  and  crossed  over  a  small  log.  Then  the  boys  were  once 
more  put  to  their  old  trade. 

On  Sunday  morning  early  the  Parson  rode  away  to  one 
of  his  appointments,  five  miles  distant,  and  the  family  went 
to  church  in  Hightown  together  for  the  first  time.  The  un- 
wonted splendor  of  the  chapel  quite  fascinated  the  boys,  and 
they  were  astonished  at  the  display  of  rich  dresses  and  milli- 


"Tacky." 


NEW  SCENES. 


121 


nery  among  the  congregation.  Never  before  did  their  own 
appearance  seem  so  mean,  or  their  clothes  look  so  old-fashioned 
and  rustic.  And  what  made  it  more  embarrasing  to  the  girls 
was  the  way  in  which  they  were  looked  over  by  many  of  the 
silken  clad  ladies.  These  supercilious  dames 
slightly  elevated  their  noses  and  seemed  to  say 
as  plainly  as  if  they  had  spoken  it  aloud, 
"tacky!"  Very  few  people  spoke  to  them  at 
the  close  of  the  services,  and  the  mortified  girls 
returned  home  full  of  loud,  feminine  wrath. 

Late  that  night  the  Parson  came  back  tired 
and  out  of  spirits.    The  next  morning 

^7 

he  ordered  the  boys  to  prepare  for 
school,  and  at  eight  o'clock  marched 
them  through  a  staring  crowd  of  scholars 
to  the  school-house,  where  he  said  to  the 
teacher,  a  very  firm  but  kindly  looking  man: 

"Here  are  my  boys,  Mr.  Forbes.  I 
want  'em  to  learn  their  lessons  and  behave 
theirselves.  Jist  report  to  me  if  they  cut 
up  any  shines.  And" — to  the  boys  them- 
selves who  stood  sheepishly  by — "I  want  to 
tell  ye  that  fer  every  whippin'  ye  git  at 
school  I  '11  give  ye  another  and  a  good  deal 
harder  one  when  ye  git  home." 

At  these  words  Mr.  Forbes  looked 
somewhat  amused ;  he  shook  hands  with 
the  boys,  however,  and  said  he  never  had 


THE  HIGHTOWN  MINISTER. 


122  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

much  trouble  with  his  scholars,  very  seldom  using  the  rod 
either. 

To  this  unorthodox  remark  the  Parson  responded  with  a 
Scriptural  quotation  about  "foolishness"  being  the  natural  con- 
tents of  a  child's  heart,  and  "the  rod"  being  the  best  means  of 
removing  it. 

Then  followed  six  months  of  pleasant  school  days;  and 
during  this  entire  period  the  boys  actually  got  along  without 
the  use  of  the  rod,  although  the  Parson  made  diligent  inquiry 
as  to  their  conduct,  both  from  them  and  the  teacher. 

As  Spring  approached  there  was  much  renewed  talk  about 
the  farm,  which  of  course  greatly  interested  the  boys.  One 
day,  in  the  latter  part  of  March,  the  Parson  came  home  from 
a  visit  to  his  purchase  and  said  that  everything  was  ready  for 
them;  they  would  move  out  to  the  farm  at  once.  The  house- 
hold goods  were  again  packed  up,  and  two  high-piled  wagons 
started  with  them  for  the  new  home. 

On  account  of  the  rough  forest  road  direct  from  town, 
the  teamsters  concluded  to  take  a  circuitous  route,  ten  miles 
in  length.  Mrs.  Flint  and  the  girls  stayed  all  night  at  a  neigh- 
bor's, intending  to  drive  out  next  morning;  so  that  afternoon 
the  Parson  and  boys  walked  to  the  farm  that  they  might  put 
the  goods  under  cover  in  case  of  rain. 

Upon  their  arrival  the  boys  were  astonished  at  the  changes 
in  the  place  since  their  first  visit.  The  clearing  had  grown  to 
six  acres,  and  was  now  under  fence.  A  neat  story-and-a-half 
house  had  been  built,  using  the  former  cabin  for  a  kitchen  "L." 
Between  the  two  buildings  was  a  broad  covered  passage  way, 


NEW  SCENES.  123 

and  running  from  it  along  the  cabin  a  big,  roomy  porch  had 
been  constructed.  The  structures  stood  in  a  large,  shady  yard, 
enclosed  by  a  substantial  board  fence  in  front,  which  was 
flanked  by  paling  wings  that  ran  far  enough  back  to  embrace 
a  newly-ploughed  garden.  Compared  with  the  squalid  par- 
sonage in  town  everything  here  looked  so  neat  and  clean  that 
the  boys  were  immensely  delighted,  and  again  began  to  dream 
wonderful  things  for  the  future  of  such  a  lovely  home. 

To  the  north  of  the  house  was  a  half-acre  lot,  in  one  cor- 
ner of  which  was  piled  a  lot  of  lumber,  out  of  which  the  Par- 
son informed  them  a  .barn  was  soon  to  be  builded.  At  the 
present  time  the  lot  contained  nothing  else  but  saplings  and 
a  huge  trough.  This  latter  article  had  been  hollowed  out  of 
a  post-oak  log;  at  one  end  it  had  two  legs,  but  the  other  rested 
upon  a  queer,  wart-like  knot,  that  seemed  to  have  grown  upon 
the  original  tree  most  conveniently  for  the  purpose. 

Near  one  corner  of  the  kitchen  was  a  large  cistern,  walled 
to  the  top  with  stone;  it  was  about  two-thirds  full  of  dark-look- 
ing water,  which  the  Parson  said  had  been  slightly  discolored 
by  the  nails  in  the  new  oak  clap-boards  on  the  roof.  Upon 
exploring  the  larger  house,  the  boys  found  that  only  its  lower 
story  had  been  completed;  the  upper  story  was  as  yet  only  a 
shell,  and  at  the  sides  they  could  reach  the  shingles.  The 
whole  interior  smelled  strongly  of  new  pine. 

Towards  evening  the  wagons  arrived,  and  their  contents 
were  all  piled  off  in  the  front  yard.  Then  the  teamsters  helped 
to  carry  in  the  stoves  and  heavier  articles,  after  which  they 
drove  away.  The  Parson  first  set  up  the  kitchen  stove,  in 


i24  THE  PERSON'S  BOYS. 

which  the  boys  at  once  built  a  fire  for  its  cheerful  looks.  Then 
they  helped  carry  two  beds  and  their  furnishings  up  stairs  to 
be  ready  for  the  night.  After  this  was  done  a  lunch  their 
mother  had  provided  comforted  their  hungry  stomachs,  and 
the  Apostle  said  it  was  time  to  retire. 

Grim  shadows  had  already  gathered  over  the  clearing, 
and  the  forest  around  looked  like  some  black,  craggy-topped 
wall.  With  the  falling  dusk  everything  became  so  gloomy  and 
solemn  that  an  unutterable  sensation  of  home-sickness  fell  upon 
the  boys.  They  climbed  the  narrow  stairs  after  the  silent  Par- 
son, looked  apprehensively  out  of  the  uncurtained  windows, 
and  wondered  if  there  might  not  be  catamounts  prowling  about 
in  the  rustling  gloom  below.  The  solitary  candle  cast  uncer- 
tain light  around,  and  stealthy  shadows  flickered  among  the 
rafters  and  studding  as  if  afraid.  A  soft  wind  was  blowing, 
and  when  the  Parson  raised  a  sash  for  fresh  air,  out  in  the 
dim  yard  the  tall,  slim  saplings  bowed  gently,  sighing  like 
skeleton  ghosts. 

Now,  the  boys  were  superstitious  by  nature  and  educa- 
tion. Darkness  was  always  a  menace  to  them.  They  looked 
upon  every  cawing  crow  and  wondered  if  it  might  not  be  one 
of  the  Scriptural,  avenging  ravens,  come  to  pick  out  their 
mocking  eyes.  When  by  themselves  in  the  woods  at  dusk  they 
thought  about  Elisha  and  his  she-bears  on  general  principles. 
A  Nemesis  seemed  always  at  their  guilty  heels. 

This  night  the  Parson  slept  alone.  After  divesting  him- 
self of  his  upper  garments,  he  knelt  by  his  bed,  groaned  forth 
his  petitions,  blew  out  the  candle,  and  stretched  his  weary 


NEW  SCENES.  125 

length  upon  the  couch.  He  nearly  always  slept  flat  on  his 
back,  and,  as  for  snoring,  nothing  could  approach  him.  When 
in  full  swing,  about  every  half-hour  following  a  series  of  hisses, 
gurglings  and  groans,  he  would  break  out  into  a  snort  that 
sounded  like  the  explosion  of  a  big  popgun.  Then  he  would 
stir  a  trifle,  rub  his  hands  down  his  face  to  straighten  out  his 
nose  and  begin  again  in  a  different  key. 

A  few  minutes  after  retiring  he  began  these  noisy  demon- 
strations, and  while  the  racket  kept  the  boys  awake  for  a  long 
time,  it  also  kept  them  from  being  so  horribly  lonesome.  In 
spite  of  the  rasping  sounds  however,  they  finally  began  to  doze, 
and  drop  off  into  the  uncertain  beginnings  of  dreams.  Then 
suddenly  they  were  brought  wide  awake  by  some  outlandish 
noise  that  made  them  both  start  up  in  bed  and  put  out  their 
hands  to  feel  if  each  other  was  there.  Directly  over  the  roof 
outside  something  was  making  sounds  that  to  them  were  utterly 
weird,  and  ominous  as  death.  It  was  a  whirring  growl,  inter- 
spersed with  queer  clacks,  that  resembled  the  clapping  of  jaws.* 

Both  the  boys  imagined  they  could  dimly  discern  all  man- 
ner of  hairy  faces,  terrible  eyes  and  gleaming  tusks  in  the  gloom 
about  them.  The  Apostle's  throat  was  croaking  and  gurgling 
as  if  a  pair  of  those  clamping  jaws  were  gripping  it,  and  "goose- 
flesh"  rose  all  over  the  boys  until  their  skins  felt  prickly  as  cu- 
cumbers. 

Their  terror  was  so  great  that  they  were  about  to  call 
aloud  when  the  noise  upon  the  roof  abruptly  ceased  with  a 
"chork"  and  some  soft,  heavy  body  seemed  to  have  alighted 

*  Noise  of  the  whippoorwill  just  before  it  sings. 


i26  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

in  place  of  the  animal  that  made  it.  Then  just  as  the  Apostle 
exploded  a  terrific  snort,  a  scream  like  the  yell  of  a  maniac 
slit  the  air.  Instantly  both  boys  were  at  the  Parson's  bed- 
side, Nathan  clutching  him  by  the  arm,  and  William  clinging 
to  his  hair  and  beard.  He  jumped  up  like  a  jack-in-the-box, 
and  as  he  did  so  there  came  from  the  roof  a  loud,  hoarse  "Hoo, 
hoo  hoo,  hoo  hooahh!"  which  died  away  in  a  growl. 

"Oh,  pa,  it's  a  jagger!"  chattered  William,  burying  his 
tow  head  in  the  pillow. 

WTilliam  did  not  know  that  jaguars  did  not  inhabit  Illi- 
nois; but  he  had  read  about  them,  and  knew  that  they  screamed. 
This  night  monster  had  done  so,  and  he  felt  sure  that  a  jaguar, 
or  one  of  Elisha's  bears  had  suddenly  come  to  make  way  with 
him. 

The  now  awakened  Parson  burst  into  a  guffaw,  and  un- 
hooking William's  twitching  fingers  from  his  beard,  said  con- 
temptuously: 

"See  if  ye  kin  git  back  into  bed;  and  don't  pull  all  the 
hair  off  'n  my  head  because  a  pore  hoot-owl  hollers!" 

Weak  from  fright,  and  bathed  in  a  clammy  sweat,  the 
boys  tremblingly  slunk  back  to  bed,  where  they  crept  close  to 
each  other  and  pulled  the  covers  up  over  their  heads.  Every 
few  minutes,  as  the  absurdity  of  the  thing  struck  him  forcibly, 
the  Apostle  was  heard  to  snort  and  chuckle;  but  the  scare  was 
too  much  for  William's  creeping  nerves,  and  he  began  to 
snuffle. 

"Aahhh,  my  sons,"  the  Parson  said  at  last,  feeling  it  the 
proper  time  to  impress  a  pious  lesson,  "if  a  innocent  hoot-owl 


NEW  SCENES.  127 

kin  scare  ye  half  to  death,  what  '11  ye  do  when  the  world  's  on 
fire?  It  is  always  best  to  be  ready,  for  no  man  knoweth  the 
day  nor  the  hour!" 

Then,  after  a  solemn  pause,  to  let  this  sink  into  their 
minds,  he  repeated  in  a  deep,  chesty  voice: 

"Dangers  stand  thick  through  all  the  ground 

To  push  us  to  the  tomb ; 
And  fierce  diseases  wait  around, 
To  hurry  mortals  home ! 

"May  we  this  life  improve, 

To  mourn   for  errors   past, 
And  live  each  short  revolving  day 
As  if  it  were  our  last!" 

Then,  with  a  lugubrious  sigh,  as  if  the  picture  was 
very  real  to  him,  he  groaned,  "The  Lawwerrd  have  mercy 
upon  us!" 

The  reaction  from  fright  had  one  good  result;  it  relieved 
the  fearful  strain  upon  the  boys'  nerves,  and  in  a  short  time 
they  slept  soundly,  forgetful  of  nightly  terrors  until  aroused 
by  the  Apostle's  joking  call : 

"It 's  time  ye  was  a-gittin'  out  of  here,  'fore  some  kind 
of  a  jagger  or  night-bird  gits  holt  of  ye!"  The  sun  was  up. 

Three  hours  later  they  were  overjoyed  to  see  old  Daniel's 
long  head  come  bobbing  down  the  road  by  the  field-fence" 
and  their  mother's  dear  face,  was  a  second  sunrise,  more  wel- 
come than  the  first. 

Before  night-fall  the  house  began  to  look  homelike,  and 
in  a  week  thereafter  everything  was  in  its  place.  There  was 
abundant  material  at  hand  to  give  the  premises  a  rustic  loveli- 

10 


iz8  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

ness,  and  all  worked  hard  to  gather  about  their  new  dwelling 
as  much  beauty  and  comfort  as  they  could. 

Of  course  the  Parson  told  the  ridiculous  story  of  their 
first  night  with  him  on  the  farm;  and  he  would  have  poked 
fun  at  the  boys  for  many  a  day,  had  not  Mrs.  Flint  told  an 
incident  of  his  own  life  which  was  quite  as  funny.  Thereafter, 
when  the  Apostle  said  "jagger,"  the  boys  never  failed  to  come 
back  at  him  with  great  satisfaction. 

Spring  advanced  rapidly.  The  trees  were  growing  green, 
and  every  morning  the  air  fairly  thrilled  with  bird  songs,  while 
at  night  owls  and  whippoorwills  took  up  the  refrain. 

The  boys'  life  on  the  farm  had  begun;  we  shall  soon  see 
how  it  fulfilled  their  expectations. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  PARSON'S  YARN. 

SHORTLY  after  moving  to  the  farm,  the  Parson  went  on 
business  to  Centerville,  twenty-five  miles  away.     Here 
resided  one  of  his  sisters  who  had  married  well,  and  was 
living  in  quite  luxurious  circumstances.     Learning  that 
the  boys  had  begun  life  in  the  woods,  their  uncle  rightly  sup- 
posed that  they  should  have  a  gun.    His  own  son  was  very  fond 
of  hunting,  and  had  several  guns  of  various  models,  some  of 
which  were  rusty  and  out  of  order  from  long  disuse. 

After  exploring  closets  and  garrets  for  half  an  hour,  the 
uncle  came  back  with  what  had  been  a  fine  English-twist,  muz- 
zle-loading double-barrel  shotgun.  One  of  its  locks  wTas  out 
of  order,  but  a  gun-smith  near  by  soon  set  that  right.  Accom- 
panying the  gun  was  a  complete  hunting  outfit.  A  powder- 
flask,  a  shot  pouch  with  different  compartments  for  various 
sized  shot,  a  game-bag,  wad-cutter,  and  corkscrew  fixtures  for 
the  end  of  the  ramrod,  so  that  unused  loads  could  be  extracted 
when  the  owner  wished. 

As  the  Parson  inspected  all  these  articles,  visions  of  savory 
pigeon  and  squirrel  pot-pie  floated  through  his  mind,  and 
brought  back  many  pleasant  memories  of  his  earlier  days.  In 
fact,  the  generous  gift  was  as  acceptable  to  him  as  he  knew 

129 


130 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


"CAME  BACK.  WITH  A  GUN." 


THE  PARSON'S  YARN.  131 

it  would  be  to  the  boys.  It  had  the  unusual  effect  of  loosening 
his  pocket-book,  and  before  returning  home  he  bought  a  boun- 
tiful supply  of  ammunition,  among  which  were  two  boxes  of 
caps.  Upon  these  were  printed  the  letters  "G.  D."  And  af- 
terward the  boys  privately  concluded  that  the  initials  stood 
for  "gosh-dern,"  because  the  caps  were  not  reliable,  failing  to 
burst  at  times,  and  thus  losing  them  many, a  good  shot. 

When  the  Parson  reached  home  with  this  unexpected 
treasure  it  fairly  took  away  the  boys'  breath.  To  his  aston- 
ishment Daniel  was  unharnessed  without  a  single  pass  being 
made  at  his  ribs.  The  excited  urchins  hurriedly  turned  him 
loose  in  the  lot,  and  scampered  back  to  investigate  the  tre- 
mendous wind-fall ;  "a  real,  sure  'nough  gun,  th^t  shot  twice 
at  once,"  as  William  said. 

After  supper  the  Parson  took  the  weapon  apart,  cleaned 
it  thoroughly,  and  explained  each  detail  of  its  construction  to 
the  boys.  This  was  a  cautionary  measure,  as  he  knew  that  if  it 
were  not  done  the  youths  would  examine  its  internal  mechan- 
ism for  themselves.  With  great  care  the  Apostle  told  them 
how  to  load;  to  pour  in  the  powder  first,  and  ram  the  wad 
down  hard  upon  it;  how  much  shot  must  be  used  for  a  squir- 
rel, and  how  the  wad  must  be  pressed  lightly  upon  it,  or  the 
gun  would  kick.  Especially  he  exhorted  them  always  to  re- 
member which  barrel  was  loaded,  lest  they  "git  a  double-charge 
in  one  and  bust  the  thing,  knockin'  their  heads  off."  Last 
he  showed  them  how  to  hold  the  gun;  to  shut  one  eye  while 
drawing  a  bead,  and  hold  steady  when  pulling  the  trigger. 

They    listened    and    looked    with    absorbed    interest,    and 


132 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


wished  it  was  only  day-light,  so  they  could  try  the  thing  at 
once;  and  each  felt  certain  that  he  could  knock  over  a  squirrel 
or  'possum,  or  even  a  "jagger"  the  first  shot.  In  turn  they  tried 
on  flask  and  shot-pouch,  bracing  the  gun  firmly  to  their  shoul- 
ders and  sighting  carefully  at  imaginary  game,  which,  of  course, 
was  supposed  to  fall  with  great  certainty. 

The  gun  was  too  heavy  for  William  to  hold  steadily  off- 
hand, so  he  rested  it  on  a  chair-back,  squinting  along  the  bar- 
rel and  screwing  his  mouth  around  in  the  neighborhood  of 
his  left  ear.  When  he  had  drawn  a  fine  bead,  he  uttered  a 
loud  "Poom!"  and  straightened  up  with  a  hunter's  fire  flash- 
ing in  his  eyes.  The  Apostle  was  in  one  of  his  rare  good- 
humors;  he  watched  all  these  exercises  with  critical  eye,  cor- 
rected their  blunders,  and  gave  them  many  useful  lessons. 

"There,  now,"  he  said  finally;  "put  the  traps  by,  and  I  '11 
tell  ye  how  yer  Uncle  Jick,  an'  Uncle  Clint,  and  another  feller 
and  me  tuk  a  week's  hunt  once,  down  at  Puncheon  Camp." 

The  boys  were  always  eager 
for    a    story:    they  hastened    to 
stand  the  gun  in  a  corner  and 
hang  the  accouterments  up  by 
it.    The  Parson  drew  his  chair 
before    the    fire-place,    for 
the     evening    was     chilly, 
parted  his  coat-tails,  strad- 
dled    the     chair    and     sat 
down  with  his  face  to  the 
back. 

m^ 

THE  PARSOV'S  YARV. 


THE  PARSON'S  YARN.  133 

"Before  I  begin,"  said  he,  "I  must  hev  a  mighty  good 
drink  of  warter.  William,  you  break  fer  the  kitchen  and  git 
it,  while  Nathan  throws  another  stick  of  wood  on  the  fire." 

William  started  on  a  run. 

"Look  out  fer  a  jagger,"  called  the  Parson  after  him;  and 
at  the  same  time  he  uttered  such  a  frightful  caterwaul  that 
William's  skin  crept  and  his  teeth  chattered. 

He  came  back  faster  than  he  went,  slopping  water  over 
the  mouth  of  a  big,  crooked-handled  gourd.  Mrs.  Flint  made 
a  protest  against  frightening  the  boys,  but  the  Parson  only 
chuckled,  and  drank  three  or  four  big  gulps  of  water. 

William  hung  the  gourd  over  a  chair-back  by  its  handle, 
sat  down  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  Parson,  took  one  of  his  great 
toes  in  each  hand,  and  thus  with  open  mouth  and  eager  eyes 
made  ready  to  listen  to  the  story.  He  had  heard  it  before,  but 
there  was  something  very  fascinating,  even  in  its  repetition. 
The  Apostle  told  it  well,  too,  for  it  was  part  of  his  early  expe- 
riences. 

Nathan  sat  midway  between  the  Parson  and  the  new  gun, 
toward  which  he  cast  occasional  admiring  glances.  Mrs.  Flint 
and  the  girls  were  knitting  or  piecing  bed-quilts,  and  the  scene 
looked  very  homelike  and  cozy. 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  began  the  Parson  dramatically,  "  'way 
long  in  the  fall  of  the  year  when  corn  was  gethered  and  every- 
thing made  ready  fer  winter,  Uncle  Clint,  Uncle  Jick,  Buck 
Poundstone  and  me  all  concluded  we  'd  take  a  week's  hunt 
down  at  Puncheon  Camp.  This  was  in  Jefferson  County,  'way 
over  on  Hoss  Creek  in  the  backwoods,  more  than  ten  miles  from 


i34  THE  PERSON'S  BOYS. 

anybody's  house.  There  was  jist  any  amount  of  turkeys,  deer, 
panthers,  bears  an'  the  like.  Puncheon  Camp  was  a  old  log 
cabin  that  some  of  us  had  put  up  jist  to  sleep  in  when  we  went 
there  to  do  any  huntin' ;  fer  of  all  the  places  fer  game  you 
ever  see,  that  beats  'em.  The  cabin  was  made  of  logs  notched 
in  at  the  ends;  but  it  had  no  chinkin'  nor  daubin',  nor  any  win- 
der, but  jist  a  hole  in  the  dirt  roof  to  let  out  the  smoke. 

"It  was  right  on  the  banks  of  the  crick,  where  we  could 
git  plenty  of  warter,  and  when  we  wanted  to  could  ketch  plenty 
of  redhoss  an'  pearch.  The  hull  bottoms  were  kivered  knee 
deep  in  grass,  and  had  underbrush  scattered  through  it.  Back 
of  the  cabin  was  a  long  ridge,  an'  when  ye  'd  gone  about  a 
mile  through  the  woods  that  kivered  it,  ye  come  to  what  old  set- 
tlers called  the  barrens:  it  was  a  clayey  post-oak  flat,  where 
nobody  lived,  ur  wanted  to. 

"Well,  we  wuz  all  ridin'  along,  tellin'  tales  of  how  we  'd 
killed  game,  when  we  struck  the  bottoms.  The  wind  was  right 
in  our  faces,  and  all  the  hounds  trottin'  at  our  horses'  heels. 
There  was  Sounder,  an'  Goodeye,  an'  Pluto,  an'  Little  Britches, 
and  Fludix,  an'  Spud.  Goodeye  hed  one  eye  knocked  out  when 
he  was  a  pup,  and  he  always  kept  the  other  pintin'  to  the  front; 
an'  when  old  Sounder  let  loose  on  a  deer's  trail  you  'd  a-thought 
that  fourteen  bulls  was  a-bellerin'!  We  was  n't  looking  fer  any- 
thing jist  then,  but  all  at  once,  a  little  to  our  left  up  jumps  a 
deer  and  tuck  a  bee-line  fer  our  rear,  so  's  to  git  the  wind  of 
us.  Clint  was  always  the  quickest  with  a  gun,  so  he  turned 
in  his  saddle  and  whanged  away,  while  the  deer  was  up  in  the 
air  jumpin'  a  log.  He  tuck  it  right  through  the  body;  then  the 


THE  PARSON'S  YARN.  135 

hounds  got  a  smell  of  blood  and  powder,  an'  of  all  the  howlin', 
yellin'  and  roarin'  it  was  then.  We  broke  after  ^them,  lickety 
cut  through  the  grass  and  brushes,  the  dogs  bayin'  like  mad. 

"Uncle  Jick  was  a  leetle  ahead.  Purty  soon  we  could  tell 
by  the  noise  that  the  dogs  were  close  on  it,  an'  when  we  got  on 
to  a  little  rise  of  ground  we  looked  over  and  saw  'em  all  around 
it,  barkin'  an'  snappin',  while  Leetle  Britches  was  trying  to 
grab  it  by  the  jew-huff.  It's  hair  was  all  stannin'  up,  an'  it 
looked  fierce,  I  tell  you! 

"Uncle  Jick  had  an  old  Yager  that  shot  a  bullet  about 
the  size  of  a  crab-apple;  he  got  within  fifty  yards  of  the  crit- 
ter, an'  tuck  a  bead  on  it  jist  back  of  the  shoulders.  Ye  could 
a-seen  it  fairly  bounce  off'n  the  ground  when  the  ball  hit  it; 
an'  the  hounds  pitched  onto  it,  an'  Leetle  Britches  grabbed 
holt  of  a  leg  an'  shuk  as  if  he  'd  done  it  all. 

"We  hed  venison  steak  that  night,  you'd  better  believe: 
fer  when  we  'd  reached  the  cabin,  hoppled  our  horses  an'  cut 
grass  fer  beds,  Buck  Poundstone  was  app'inted  cook  the  fust 
turn.  He  got  us  up  a  supper  that  would  jist  a-made  yer  mouth 
warter. 

"After  we  'd  e't,  we  hung  the  rest  of  the  deer  up  high,  out 
of  reach  of  varmints,  and  purty  soon  we  went  to  bed.  Next 
mornin'  we  divided  up  in  couples,  to  hunt  ag'n  each  other; 
Uncle  Jick  an'  me  a»g'n  Buck  Poundstone  an'  Uncle  Clint.  It 
was  an  all  day's  tramp,  but  we  did  n't  get  anything  except  two 
wild  turkeys.  That  night  the  hounds  left  us  an'  went  back 
home,  which  was  good  fer  us,  I  reckon.  We  got  up  before 
daybreak  next  day,  an'  after  talkin'  it  over  concluded  we'd 


136  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS 

better  go  in  opposite  directions  and  hunt  alone.  I  lit  out  jist 
before  sun  up,  climbed  the  long  ridge  back  of  the  cabin  an' 
slipped  along  the  top  of  it  fer  nearly  a  mile.  All  at  once  up 
jumps  two  deer  right  in  front  of  me,  and  streaked  it  away  down 
the  ridge  to'rds  the  bottoms.  I  lammed  away  at  one,  but  the 
bullet  struck  it  glancing'  on  the  back,  an'  only  skived  off  a  patch 
of  hair:  it  was  bad  luck!" 

"I  bet  ye  could  a-peppered  him  if  you'd  had  our  gun!" 
put  in  William  excitedly.  "Oh,  I  wisht  I'd  a  been  there!" 

The  Parson  dragged  his  chair  a  little  back  from  the  fire 
and  went  on.  "I  heard  some  shot  away  off  to  the  right  pretty 
soon,  an'  I  know'd  it  was  Uncle  Jick's  an'  Clint's  guns;  they 
seemed  to  be  havin'  some  luck,  anyhow. 

"I  tramped  around  until  about  two  hours  by  sun,  and  did  n't 
see  another  blessed  thing  but  a  passel  of  juggen  hens.  It  was 
disapp'intin'  an'  finally  I  tuck  back  to  camp  so  as  to  git  supper 
ready  by  the  time  the  other  fellers  had  come  in.  (When  I  got 
there  I  tried  to  start  a  fire,  but  it  burned  slow,  an'  I  blowed 
at  it  till  the  smoke  got  into  my  eyes,  and  nearly  choked  me. 

"I  stepped  out  doors  to  git  a  fresh  breath  of  air,  when  I 
saw  the  bosses  with  their  noses  all  p'intin'  one  way,  lookin' 
at  somethin'  comin1  down  the  ridge.  I  looked  in  that  direc- 
tion, an'  lo,  an'  behold,  what  should  there  be  but  a  big  five- 
prong  buck  a-trottin'  down  to  the  crick  fer  a  drink!  I  see  she 
was  goin'  to  cross  the  trail  in  the  bottoms  about  fifty  yards 
away;  so  I  reached  inside  the  door  fer  my  gun  an'  run  down 
to'rds  him  a  little  distance,  where  I  got  on  a  stump.  When 
I  looked  ag'in  the  buck  bed  stopped,  and  wuz  pintin'  his  nose 


THE  PARSON'S  YARN.  137 

right  at  me.  I  took  a  quick  sight  and  tore  loose.  Then  I  heard 
somethin'  drap. 

"The  smoke  lifted,  and  there  he  lay  kickin'  like  sixty,  shot 
right  through  the  skull.  I  jerked  out  my  frog-sticker  on  the 
run  and  bled  him.  It  made  me  proud,  I  tell  ye!  He  wuz  too 
big  fer  me  to  drag  to  camp,  so  I  went  back  and  got  the  fire 
to  blazin',  then  cut  some  bacon  an'  mixed  the  meal  fer  our 
hoe-cakes. 

"By  this  time  Uncle  Jick  got  in  with  a  fine  young  doe,  and 
he  helped  me  drag  my  buck  down  to  camp.  Presently  Clfnt 
and  Poundstone  come  back,  an'  each  had  one  apiece,  so  we  was 
even  that  night;  but  yer  daddy  got  the  purtiest  one  of  them  all. 

"Well,  we  tuk  the  insides  out  of  'em  an'  hung  'em  all  up 
in  a  row  on  a  pole.  We  hed  fine  tender-line  steak,  cornbread 
and  coffee,  all  sweetened  nice  with  maple-sugar;  and  we  wuz 
so  hungry  it  tasted  good.  After  that  we  wartered  the  horses, 
an'  put  the  hopples  on  'em  so  they  could  graze,  an'  then  we  all 
set  down  to  talk  over  the  day's  hunt. 

"Along  about  nine  o'clock  Uncle  Jick,  who  was  a-settin' 
near  the  door  put  up  his  hand  and  said,  'Hark!' 

"We  stopped  talkin'  to  lissen!  an'  'way  up  the  crick  some- 
where, so  faint  it  sounded  ten  mile  off,  we  heard  somethin'  go— 

"  'Ow-o-o-o-o;  oo-oo-oo!' 

"Purty  soon  off  in  another  direction  somethin'  else  begin: 

"  'Yoo-yoo-yoo ;  ooo-ooo-ooo-ooooo !' 

"Then  'way  round  to  the  right  of  this  another: 

"  'Wow- wow- wow ;  woo-oo-ooo-ooo !' ' 

The  Parson  curved  a  hand  at  the  side  of  his  mouth,  turn- 


138  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

ing  in  the  indicated  directions  and  imitating  these  strange  sounds 
so  well  that  William's  eyes  bulged  out  and  his  breath  came  fast. 
After  locating  a  number  of  the  howlers,  the  narrator  went  on: 

"We  knowed  in  a  minute  it  was  wolves, — a  hull  drove  of 
'em.  They  smelled  our  fresh  meat  and  would  never  stop  'til 
they  got  to  us.  Presently  they  all  got  together  up  the  crick, 
howlin'  an'  barkin'  an'  screechin'  until  it  seemed  like  there 
must  be  more  'n  a  hundred  of  'em.  We  grabbed  our  guns  an' 
went  out  doors  a  little  way,  where  we  all  knelt  down  in  a  row 
to  be  ready  for  'em. 

"Here  they  come;  Ringwell,  Tingwell,  Towser,  the  old  slut 
and  nine  pups,  screamin'  an'  yellin',  jist  a-meckin'  things  hark! 

"When  we  thought  they'd  got  about  thirty  yards  from 
us  we  all  whanged  away  at  once't,  an'  set  up  a  yell  like  forty 
Injins.  With  the  noise  of  the  guns  they  all  turned  tail  and  tuck 
back  up  the  crick  the  way  they'd  come,  an'  we  did  n't  see  or 
hear  any  more  of  'em." 

"How  many  did  ye  kill?"  asked  William  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

While  the  Parson  had  so  vividly  imitated  the  advancing 
wolves,  William  had  risen  to  his  knees,  and  taken  hold  of  both 
heels  to  steady  his  nerves.  He  had  frequently  asked  the  ques- 
tion of  how  many  wolves  were  killed,  but  there  was  a  great 
satisfaction  in  having  the  answer  repeated. 

"Aahh,"  said  the  Parson  reminiscently,  "we  went  out  next 
mornin'  to  see,  an'  only  found  the  scratches  where  they'd  tore 
up  the  ground  as  they  whirled  to  git  away.  We  made  their  hair 
fly,  though!" 


THE  PARSON'S  YARN. 


'39 


"Yes,"  put  in  William,  "but  the  meat  flew  with  it." 

Admitting  this  with  a  grin,  the  Parson  continued:  "I 
guess  it  wuz  too  dark  an'  we  wuz  too  excited  to  take  much 
aim.  Anyways  we  never  wuz 
bothered  with  the  varmints 
any  more. 

"We  stayed  two  days 
longer  an'  by  this  time  hed  all 
the  meat  our  horses  could 
carry  home;  so  on  Friday  we 
started  back,  an'  about  noon 
got  to  old  Uncle  Jacky  John- 
son's place.  He  made  us  all 
stop  fer  dinner,  an'  while  the 
hosses  was  bein'  watered 
Uncle  Jacky  said: 

"  'Boys,  thar  's  a  big  buck 
uses  down  in  my  cornfield 
yander,  next  to  the  woods,  an' 
I  shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  one  of  ye  mightn't  find  him  thar 
now.  I  seed  him  once't  ur  twic't,  an'  you  better  believe  he  's  a 
rouser.  Suppose  ye  try  fer  him,'  he  said  to  me. 

"So  I  tuk  a  long  musket  of  Uncle  Jacky's  that  was  loaded 
with  buck-shot  an'  set  off.  I  wuz  going'  down  one  side  of  the 
fence  when  the  corn  over  in  the  field  begin  to  rustle,  an'  I 
come  purty  near  whanging  loose  at  Uncle  Jacky,  who  'd  cut 
across  an'  overtook  me.  He  p'inted  out  a  big  tree  at  the  far 
side  of  the  field,  and  said  there  was  where  the  buck  had  found 


AT  UNCLE  JACKY  JOHNSON'S. 


i4o  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

a  low  place  in  the  fence  to  jump  over.  Then  he  said  if  I  'd  go 
there  an'  wait,  he  'd  slip  through  the  corn  an'  drive  the  game 
out  fer  me.  I  had  n't  more  than  got  there  when  I  heard  Uncle 
Jacky  hollerin'  at  the  top  of  his  voice: 

"  'Looooook  out!    Looooook  out!' 

"Sure  enough  here  come  the  buck  twenty  feet  at  a  jump. 
Jist  as  he  riz  over  the  fence  I  blazed  away,  an'  the  old  musket 
come  mighty  near  kickin'  the  side  of  my  jaw  off.  It  fairly 
keeled  me  over,  an'  when  I  got  up  there  lay  the  buck  on  his 
side,  winkin'  his  eyes  and  sorter  twitchin1,  jist  about  to  git  up 
an'  start  off  ag'in!  I  jumped  on  his  horns  and  felt  fer  my  knife, 
but  found  I  'd  left  it  among  the  traps  on  my  boss.  Then  I 
begin  to  yell  fer  Uncle  Jacky,  and  here  he  come,  chargin' 
through  the  corn,  gittin'  out  his  knife  as  he  run.  When  he  cut 
its  throat,  I  tell  ye  I  wuz  glad;  fer  only  two  shots  had  struck 
it,  one  on  the  shoulder,  an'  the  other  jist  under  the  ear;  so  it  was 
only  stunned  a  little. 

"I  do  n't  think  I  ever  see  a  bigger  buck  in  all  my  born  days. 
It  had  lived  in  the  cornfield  until  it  wuz  jist  rollin  fat;  too 
heavy  fer  us  to  carry  back  to  the  house.  So  Uncle  Jacky  went 
and  yoked  up  his  oxen  to  a  old  truck-waggin  an'  come  down 
after  it.  The  waggin  wheels  was  made  by  sawin'  off  about 
two  inches  from  the  butt  of  a  big  tree,  an'  borin'  holes  through 
'em  fer  axles.  Here  the  old  contraption  come, — scree — scraw, 
scree — screak,  scrawak, — an'  Uncle  Jacky  hollerin'  at  his  oxen 
till  yc  could  ha'  heard  him  a  mile,  easy.  We  h'isted  the  buck 
in  an'  went  back.  The  critter  was  so  fat  it  jist  shuk  an'  wob- 
bled from  side  to  side  of  the  waggin-bed.  When  its  hide  wuz 


Big  Five-prong  Buck. 


THE  PARSON'S  YARN. 


141 


dressed  I  sold  it  fer  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  in  silver,  which 
was  jist  about  twenty-cents  a  pound. 

"Aunt  Rhody,  Uncle  Jacky's  old  woman,  soon  got  dinner 
ready.  They  hed  a  big  double-log  house  with  a  wide  entry 
way  between  where  she  set  the  table.  She  'd  baked  a  venison 
saddle  with  sweet  pertaters;  an'  if  ever  ye  saw  anything  good 
it  was  like  that.  When  she  brought  out  a  big  plateful  of  flaky 
white  biscuits  with  honey,  an'  rich  gravy  from  the  roast,  s-s-s-sp ! 
teck  keer,  boys,  or  ye  '11  swaller  yer  spoons!" 

At  this  climax  William  rose  to  his  feet.  His  arms  hung 
limp,  the  water  ran  from  his  mouth,  and  in  his  eyes  were  un- 
shed tears.  In  a  ravished  voice  he  asked  gaspingly: 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Parson,  "that 's  all.  It 's  gittin'  late;  we  '11 
have  prayers  an'  then  go  to  bed." 

Nathan  read  an  easy  Psalm.  Then  the  Parson  changed  his 
look  and  tone  to  suit  the  occasion,  and  in  a  slow,  solemn  voice 
offered  up  the  evening  petitions. 

When  prayers  were  over  the  boys  went  to  bed  in  a  daze, 
and  soon  fell  into  a  tangle  Of  dreams  that  were  full  of  five- 
pronged  bucks,  six-pronged  wolves  and  seven-pronged  sweet 
potatoes. 


T 


CHAPTER   XII. 
TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME. 

was  no  need  for  the  boys  to  be  called  next 
morning.  They  were  up  with  the  sun,  excitedly  plan- 
ning a  hunt  which  was  to  be  as  nearly  as  possible 
like  the  one  related  by  the  Parson. 

Before  leaving  Hightown  they  had  once  visited  a  parish- 
ioner's with  the  Parson,  and  that  good  man  made  them  a  present 
of  a  pup.  Any  kind  of  a  gift  was  eagerly  received  by  the  boys, 
but  a  dog  delighted  them  beyond  measure.  They  smuggled 
the  animal  under  the  buggy  seat  where  she  lay  hidden  until 
they  had  reached  home. 

When  the  Parson  saw  her  he  waxed  wroth  and  threatened 
to  kill  her;  but  recollecting  the  then  near  by  migration  to  a  farm 
he  finally  listened  to  the  boys'  pleadings  and  spared  the  pup's 
life. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  fond  owners  could  decide  upon 
a  suitable  name  for  her  dogship,  but  finally  it  came  about  in 
this  way. 

Once,  while  "acting  the  fool,"  as  the  Parson  expressed  it, 
Muckemtady  sang  a  song  for  the  boys.  It  ran  as  follows: 

"Somebody  stole  my  old  'coon  dog, 

And  I  \visht  they  'd  bring  her  back, 
She'd  chase  the  big  pigs  over  the  fence, 
And  the  little  ones  through  the  crack." 

I42 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME.  143 

This  had  caught  the  boys'  fancy;  they  now  remembered 
it,  and  called  their  dog  "Coon,"  a  name  she  quickly  learned 
to  recognize. 

Coon  proved  to  be  very  smart.  She  quickly  showed  great 
intelligence,  and  developed  many  fine  qualities.  Not  long  after 
being  taken  to  the  farm  she  betrayed  great  excitement  at  sight 
of  some  chipmunks  that  were  scurrying  along  the  lot  fence. 
This  led  the  boys  to  hope  that  she  would  make  a  good  hunting 
dog,  which  she  finally  did. 

Very  early  in  life  she  would  plunge  into  a  pool  and  swim 
about  with  much  satisfaction,  or  bring  out  a  stick  that  had  been 
thrown  in:  of  course  it  was  then  thought  that  she  had  spaniel 
blood  in  her:  but  then  she  learned  to  track  a  bird,  and  that  in- 
dicated "pointer"  qualities. 

The  Parson  finally  settled  her  pedigree.  He  said  with  a 
sniff  of  unmerited  contempt  that  she  was  a  "mongrel."  The 
boys  did  not  know  what  this  meant,  but  they  supplied  a  good 
mean-ing  out  of  Coon's  many  excellent  traits  of  character. 

As  breakfast  was  not  ready  when  the  Apostle  got  up,  he 
loaded  the  gun  for  the  boys,  and  told  them  to  "slip  around  the 
field,  and  see  if  they  could  n't  fetch  in  a  squirrel,  but  to  be 
careful  and  not  blow  their  noggins  off." 

They  at  once  started  to  "slip,"  and  Coon  wanted  to  go 
along;  but  when  the  Parson  saw  her  motions  he  said  sar- 
castically: 

"Ye  'd  better  leave  that  critter  here  if  ye  want  to  git  any- 
thing." 

"No,  we  want  to  train  her,"  replied  Nathan  earnestly. 


144  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

The  Apostle  grunted,  but  as  he  did  not  forbid  her,  Coon 
went.  She  trotted  ahead  of  the  boys  about  thirty  yards,  paus- 
ing every  little  while  to  listen,  or  peer  out  into  the  woods.  This 
she  did  with  one  foot  raised  and  her  ears  cocked  in  a  very  beau- 
tiful manner. 

The  hunters  had  not  gone  half  way  around  the  field  before 
a  sudden  rustling  was  heard  in  the  bushes,  and  Coon  sprang  out 
to  see  what  caused  it.  Presently  she  began  to  bark  and 
whine  as  if  a  catamount  might  be  after  her,  and  the  boys 
ran  to  see  what  she  had  found. 

When   they  reached  the  spot  she  was   acting  crazy, 
trying  to  climb  a  tree,  and  not  succeeding  beyond  a  very 
high  jump  up  its  side.    Upon  looking  among  the  branches 
overhead,  the  boys  caught  sight  of  a  fine  fat  squirrel.     It 
ran  out  upon  the  end  of  a  limb  and  from  that  sprang  to 
another  tree,  the  sight  of  it  meanwhile  tantalizing  Coon 
so    as    to    make    her    dance    along    on    her    hind    legs,    right 
under  it. 

Nathan  got  his  gun  ready  to  shoot  as  soon  as  the  squirrel 
stopped  running,  but  the  nimble  creature  kept  up  its  leaping 
until  it  reached  a  big,  knotty  oak,  round  the  trunk  of  which 
it  slid  with  a  saucy  chipper  and  disappeared.  The  boys 
searched  to  see  where  it  had  gone,  and  soon  discovered  about 
thirty  feet  from  the  ground  a  smooth,  well-worn  hole.  The 
game  had  escaped  them. 

Their  disappointment  was  very  keen,  and  it  grew  more 
so  as  they  neared  the  house  without  seeing  anything  more. 
However,  Coon's  very  brilliant  conduct  was  something  to  feel 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME. 


proud  of;  and  the  boys  related  it  in  such  glowing  terms  that 
the  Apostle  said : 

"She  may  be  good  fer  somethin'  else  besides  a  meat  trap." 

When  the  boys  had  told  how  the  squirrel  got  away  from 
them,  the  Parson  gave  them  a  lesson  in  hunting-craft.  "When 
ye  see  a  squirrel  start  to  run  on  the  trees,  he  's  meckin'  fer  his 
hole,  an'  ye  '11  hev  to  shoot  him  on  the  run  if  ye  git  him  at  all." 

After  breakfast  the  Parson  called  the  boys  and  went  to 
work.  There  was  garden  to  make,  grubbing  to  do,  and  an 
endless  number  of  odd  jobs  which  kept  them  very  busy. 

About  noon  old  Uncle  Bulger  Baldwin  came  over  from 

the  edge  of  the  prairie  a  mile  distant,  to  rive  clapboards  for    -  . 

<•*  I  i 
the  new  barn  and  a  smoke-house  the  Parson  intended  building,    ^-H 

y& 

To  the  boys  Uncle  Bulger  was  a  wonderful  character. 
He  was  more  than  six  feet  in  height,  and  was  in  the  habit  of 
saying  that  he  had  "been  a  mighty  powerful  man  in  his  day." 
This  was  undoubtedly  true,  but  the  hand  of  Time  had  been  laid 
heavily  upon  him,  bending  him  somewhat  about  the  shoulders 
and  knees. 

He  was  ugly  as  a  mud  fence.  His  eyes  were  red  about 
the  lids,  having  a  bag  under  each  that  hung  down  and  pulled 
away  the  lids,  exposing  the  lower  half  of  his  eyeballs.  As  the 
upper  lids  were  always  raised  in  a  questioning  fashion,  alto- 
gether he  had  a  very  unusual  stare.  He  had  high,  prominent, 
cheek-bones,  with  a  long,  lean  jaw.  And  as  he  plastered  his 
hair  down  on  each  side  of  his  face,  "reaching"  it  straight  up 
in  front,  it  made  his  countenance  decidedly  striking.  He  wore 
no  beard  save  where  the  neck  and  jaw  came  together,  but  here 


146  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

there  was  a  grizzly  necklace  of  bristles,  stiff  and  standing  out 
under  his  chin  like  a  ruff. 

As  the  Parson  described  it,  Uncle  Bulger  "chawed  to- 
backer,"  but  he  always  raised  his  own  supply,  and  went  about 
with  a  twist  in  his  pocket,  and  a  quid  stowed  away  in  one  cheek. 

He  wore  a  checkered  shirt  and  blue-jeans  pantaloons,  the 
latter  held  up  by  a  pair  of  knit  yarn  suspenders.  His  boots 
were  number  iwelve,  and  sadly  run  down  at  the  heels. 

Not  alone  for  these  personal  peculiarities,  but  for  other 
reasons  as  well,  Uncle  Bulger  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
boys.  Having  "emmygrated"  in  early  days  from  Tennessee, 
he  was  full  of  pioneer  memories,  and  ever  ready  to  relate  "a 
leetle  sarkimstance,"  as  he  called  the  stories.  His  tales  were 
always  a  little  more  marvelous  than  any  one  else  ever  heard 
or  could  tell. 

One  day  while  working  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  a  short 
distance  from  the  house,  he  set  up  a  loud  yell  to  the  Parson. 

"Bring  yer  gun,  and  come  here  quick,  Mr.  Flint;  here's 
more  'n  forty  sque'lls  up  one  tree!" 

With  a  vision  of  savory  stews  in  mind  the  Parson  responded 
to  his  call  in  a  tremendous  hurry.  When  he  reached  the  spot, 
Uncle  Bulger  was  looking  excitedly  up  a  big  hickory  tree,  but 
suddenly  he  remarked  in  a  tone  of  great  disappointment: 

"Oh,  shucks!  Yer  jist  too  late.  The  last  one  hez  run  inter 
thct  hole  up  yander.  My,  how  full  thet  tree  must  feel!" 

The  Parson  saw  the  hole,  and  likewise  the  point  of  Uncle 
Bulger's  joke.  Turning  on  his  heel  with  the  dry  remark,  "Yes, 
I  see,  the  tree  seems  to  be  swellin'  "  he  went  back  to  the 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME.  147 

house.  In  answer  to  Mrs.  Flint's  inquiry  of  what  luck  had 
resulted  from  his  rush  he  made  but  one  disgusted  remark: 

"That  man  's  the  beatin'est  liar  I  ever  see!" 

As  Uncle  Bulger  rived  clap-boards,  it  was  the  boys'  duty 
to  pile  them  up  and  weight  them  down  to  keep  the  sun  from 
warping  them.  This  gave  them  many  coveted  opportunities 
to  hear  the  wonderful  yarns  the  old  man  told  so  well. 

Upon  the  special  occasion  of  which  we  write  he  had  taken 
a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco,  and  entered  upon  the  relation  of  a 
tragic  tale  of  "p'isenous  snake-bites." 

"I  know'd  a  leetle  sarkimstance  one  time  when  four  dif- 
frunt  men  war  killed  by  one  pair  o'  boots.  It  was  like  this. 
The  fust  man  was  mowin'  in  a  fence  corner;  when  a  big,  six- 
foot  rattler  struck  at  him,  an'  bruk  off  its  fangs  in  his  boot- 
leg. He  did  n't  notice  this,  but  killed  the  reptyle,  and  went 
ahead  with  his  work.  Purty  soon  the  teeth  scratched  the  calf 
of  his  leg,  and  by  night  he  bed  swelled  up  and  died,  as  pided 
as  the  snake  itself.  Nobuddy  could  imagine  what  ailed  him; 
an'  after  he  wuz  dead,  his  wife  guv  the  boots  to  the  oldest 
boy.  He  got  scratched  the  same  way,  and  purty  soon  wuz 
dead;  and  it  kept  up  till  all  four  of  'em  wuz  laid  out  'fore  they 
found  what  was  the  matter." 

The  boys  took  all  this  in  with  open  mouths,  and  marveled 
much.  But  soon  they  led  the  talk  around  to  firearms,  and  told 
Uncle  Bulger  about  their  new  gun. 

"Thet  reminds  me  uv  a  leetle  sarkimstance,"  he  said.  "The 
antickest  trick  in  the  way  of  shootin'  I  ever  seed  was  down  in 
Bill  Simpson's  clearin',  in  old  Tennysee;— 


148  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Just  at  this  interesting  juncture,  the  Apostle,  who  saw  how 
matters  were  drifting,  called: 

"Oh,  Nathan!  You  and  William  see  if  ye  can  come  here 
and  help  me  set  out  these  sweet-pertater  plants.  Meek  haste 
about  it,  too!" 

This  work  required  them  to  stoop  a  great  deal,  and  was 
very  tiresome,  but  they  were  kept  at  it  all  afternoon,  so  that 
by  nightfall  even  the  Parson  himself  declared  he  "was  clean 
beat  out." 

At  dusk  a  slow  drizzling  fain  set  in.  The  wind  sighed 
weepingly  around  the  house,  and  a  constant  drip,  drip,  of  rain 
made  a  doleful  sound  that  was  very  depressing.  After  supper 
the  Parson  spent  some  time  in  setting  up  pieces  of  boards  at 
various  corners  where  the  eave-troughs  overflowed,  to  catch 
as  much  water  as  possible  for  washing  purposes.  He  was  by 
nature  and  training  a  most  economical  man,  and  did  not  like 
to  see  even  water  going  to  waste. 

Having  arranged  sundry  tubs,  buckets,  wash-boilers  and 
pots  to  his  satisfaction,  he  came  stamping  into  the  porch,  shook 
the  rain  from  his  hat,  and  after  putting  on  a  dry  coat  went  into 
the  sitting-room.  Here  he  assumed  his  usual  position  of  rest, 
tipped  back  in  a  chair  against  the  wall,  with  one  foot  on  a 
rung,  his  legs  crossed,  and  his  arms  folded  across  his  chest. 
Thus  lost  in  his  own  reflections  he  volunteered  no  remarks, 
replying  to  a  few  questions  from  his  wife  by  a  brief  "Yes,"  or  "I 
suppose  so."  She  finally  gave  up  all  attempts  to  draw  him 
out,  and  plied  her  knitting. 

-The  boys  had  stretched  themselves  out  upon  the  floor,  where 
William  was  soon  asleep,  and  Nathan  very  drowsy.  Eunice 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME.  149 

and  Louise  were  crocheting  and  talking  some  enigmatical 
lingo  about  their  beaux  and  the  neighbors.  Suddenly  without  a 
word  of  warning  the  Apostle  tipped  his  chair  forward  and 
said,  while  kneeling,  "Let  us  join  in  prayer." 

Nathan  got  up  and  sank  on  one  hip  near  a  chair,  upon 
which  he  laid  his  sleepy  head,  while  the  rest  of  the  family 
dropped  into  postures  of  devotion,  all  save  William;  he  had 
not  awakened;  but  still  lay  sprawled  upon  his  back  unconscious 
of  what  was  going  on. 

Pausing  in  the  first  phrases  of  his  petition,  the  Parson 
looked  at  him,  and  called  in  a  sharp  voice: 

"William!"     But  William  said  never  a  word. 

Then  the  Parson  arose,  stepped  to  him  and  turned  him 
over  with  a  big  foot,  administering  a  smart  smack  which  at  once 
brought  the  sleeper  to  a  feeling  sense  of  his  duty.  He  reared 
into  a  sitting  position,  stared  around  in  a  dazed  fashion,  and 
then  crawled  over  to  his  mother's  chair,  where  he  subsided 
upon  his  knees,  while  the  Parson  knelt  again,  and  resumed  his 
interrupted  exercises. 

He  was  unusually  deliberate  and  solemn;  for  when  the 
Apostle  felt  least  like  praying  at  length,  he  always  denied 
himself  and  took  up  his  cross  in  a  very  pious  manner. 

But  it  so  happened  that  near  the  close  of  his  prayer  a 
great  clamor  arose  from  the  poultry  yard,  accompanied  by  a 
terrified,  metallic  screech  from  a  gander.  Coon  started  from 
her  box  on  the  porch  with  a  sharp  yelp,  and  the  Parson  bro.ught 
his  words  to  an  abrupt  "Amen,"  exclaiming,  as  he  arose  from  his 
knees,  "Run,  my  sons;  there's  a  varmint  after  the  chickens!" 


i$o  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Nathan  flew  to  the  kitchen  for  an  old  tin-lantern,  but 
found  considerable  difficulty  in  lighting  it.  William  was  so 
excited  that  he  forgot  all  possible  danger,  and  ran  out  to  "sic" 
Coon,  who  was  scratching  frantically  at  the  paling  gate  that 
opened  into  the  lot.  As  soon  as  it  was  open  she  darted  in,  and 
William  followed,  being  familiar  with  every  inch  of  the  way. 

When  he  reached  the  shed  where  the  fowls  roosted,  Coon 
was  snuffing  about  near  by,  and  he  gave  her  constant  encour- 
agement. Thus  incited,  she  suddenly  sprang  forward,  seized 
something  that  was  passing  between  William  and  the  gate, 
and  began  to  shake  it  furiously. 

The  next  second  the  air  was  fairly  thick  with  the  most 
horrible  odor  that  ever  assailed  the  nostrils  of  man!  Coon  held 
her  breath  and  continued  to  do  her  duty;  but  William,  gasp- 
ing and  retching,  made  a  blind  run  for  the  house,  only  to  stum- 
ble over  the  gander  and  fall  right  on  the  dog  and  her  terrific 
adversary.  He  scrambled  up  again  and  staggered  away,  claw- 
ing the  air  and  working  his  mouth  without  being  able  to  utter 
a  word. 

By  this  time  Nathan  had  lighted  the  lantern,  and,  pre- 
ceded by  the  Apostle,  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  porch,  just 
as  William  tottered  through  the  gate  near  by. 

"Great  Methus'leh!  What  on  earth  hev  ye  been  doin'l" 
cried  the  Parson,  catching  a  whiff  of  the  air. 

"Owww!"  sputtered  William,  for  all  he  could  not  speak. 
He  thought  his  very  soul  would  faint  within  him. 

As  soon  as  they  caught  a  breath  of  the  dreadful  odor,  the 
girls  all  stampeded  upstairs,  Louise  calling  as  she  flew: 


Stumbled  over  the  Gander. 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME.  151 

"For  gracious  sakes,  do  n't  let  him  come  in  the  house  with 
that  stench,  or  we  won't  be  able  to  live  in  it!" 

It  seemed  that  poor  William  was  about  to  be  left  in  the 
cold  world  alone,  but  as  usual  his  mother  came  to  the  rescue. 
She  brought  him  a  change  of  clothes,  telling  him  to  go  out 
under  a  tree  and  make  the  shift.  William  did  so,  and  the  Par- 
son asked  between  his  snorts  of  laughter  from  the  shelter  of 
the  porch: 

"Did  ye  meet  a  jagger,  my  son;  or  was  it  some  kind  of  a 
night  bird  tryin'  to  ketch  ye?" 

"Naww!  I  didn't  meet  no  jagger,"  bawled  William  in 
a  rage.  "Why  did  n't  ye  tell  me  what  the  thing  wuz,  an'  not 
let  me  go  out  there  by  myself?" 

In  a  little  time  he  appeared,  while  Coon  came  in  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  porch,  chewing  a  bunch  of  grass  which 
she  had  torn  up  in  her  distress  to  take  the  taste  out  of  her 
mouth.  The  look  she  cast  around  appealed  for  some  word  of 
praise,  but  meeting  only  the  most  clamorous  rebuff,  she  slunk 
out  into  the  yard,  and  wallowed  in  a  puddle  of  water,  the  while 
groaning  dolefully. 

Having  relieved  himself  of  his  malodorous  clothes,  Wil- 
liam felt  much  better,  although  there  was  still  a  most  persistent 
trace  of  the  dreadful  perfume  about  him.  When  he  came  in 
Nathan  ran  and  poked  his  head  out  of  the  window,  calling 
back  over  his  shoulder: 

"I  ain't  going  to  sleep  with  him  this  night." 

William  lost  all  patience  at  such  an  insulting  suggestion, 
and  roared  at  him  in  great  dudgeon: 


152  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"I  don't  want  ye  to  sleep  with  me,  ye  big  coward!  Ye 
wuz  afraid  to  go  out  there  yerself !" 

"I  ain't  very  brave  when  jaggers  is  about,"  replied  Nathan. 

William  was  about  to  fume  again,  but  the  Apostle  inter- 
fered: 

"There  now;  that'll  do,"  he  said  in  stern  tones.  "See  if 
ye  can  both  git  to  bed!" 

William  occupied  a  pallet  by  himself  for  the  balance  of 
the  night,  and  sleep  soon  settled  over  the  household,  The  rain 
continued;  sometimes  with  a  great  downpour,  and  again  with 
a  gentle  drip,  drip,  drop,  and  when  the  boys  awakened  they 
saw  it  promised  to  continue  all  day.  This  made  them  rejoice 
inwardly  because  they  would  not  have  to  work.  Nathan's  an- 
tipathy toward  William  was  quickly  forgotten  in  a  new  interest. 
Breakfast  was  not  ready,  so  "they  paid  a  visit  to  the  scene  of 
the  night's  encounter.  Even  the  heavy  rain  had  not  washed 
away  all  the  lingering  odor,  but  the  dead  invader  was  there, 
drenched  and  harmless.  They  carried  it  on  a  pitchfork  to  a 
distance  from  the  house,  and  Nathan  exclaimed: 

"My,  ain't  he  a  sounder!" 

"You  'd  a-thought  so,  and  a  smeller,  too,  if  you  'd  been 
out  with  me  last  night,"  replied  William  positively.  "He  's 
more  'n  I  want  to  run  across  ag'in." 

"But  was  n't  Coon  some  punkins  to  jump  on  it?  The 
blame  thing  might  a-eat  up  the  gander  and  a  lot  of  chickens, 
too,  if  she  had  n't  grabbed  it  in  time." 

"I  wisht  it  had  a-eat  up  the  gander,"  rejoined  William 
spitefully.  "He  's  always  doin'  somethin'  he  ain't  got  no  busi- 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME.  153 

ness  to.  He  tripped  me  up  an'  like  to  broke  my  neck,  besides 
makin'  me  fall  right  on  this  nasty  thing." 

He  emphasized  these  remarks  by  throwing  a  wet  cob  at 
the  unlucky  gander  that  had  been  trying  several  minutes  to 
crawl  through  a  two-inch  crack  in  the  lot  fence. 

Presently  a  voice  called  them  to  breakfast,  and  when  the 
"blessing"  had  been  asked,  William  remarked: 

"Well,  the  thing  is  dead." 

"Yes,  I  should  judge  so,"  replied  the  Parson.  "From  the 
smell  last  night  I  'd  a-thought  it  had  been  dead  a  long  time. 
Air  ye  goin'  to  skin  it?" 

The  boys  had  not  thought  of  such  a  thing,  but  of  course 
they  could  sell  the  creature's  hide.  It  was  impossible  to  guess 
what  a  skunk-hide  would  bring,  but  they  fancied  it  ought  to 
command  a  good  price,  as  few  would  care  to  skin  such  odorous 
game. 

After  breakfast,  however,  the  Parson  told  them  to  soak  the 
dead  animal  in  the  branch  for  a  few  days,  as  that  would  entirely 
deprive  it  of  its  offensive  qualities;  so  they  tied  a  stone  about 
its  neck  and  dropped  it  into  the  deepest  hole  they  could  find. 

The  rain  had  by  this  time  grown  fitful,  coming  in  showers, 
and  about  ten  o'clock  the  sun  broke  through  the  scattering 

clouds.    Then  the  boys  suggested  that  it  was  a  good  chance  to 

*\ 
go  hunting,  and  the  Parson  gave  hearty  assent,  saying  that  it    Ni 

was  just  the  right  time  to  find  any  amount  of  squirrels.  \  •> 

In  a  minute  the  boys  had  on  all  their  accouterments  and 
whistled  for  Coon.  She  rushed  in  and  went  nearly  frantic 
at  the  prospect  of  a  hunt.  She  crouched  at  the  boys'  feet,  drew 


154  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

back  her  upper  lip  in  a  radiant  smile,  offered  to  shake  hands, 
and  finally  relieved  her  feelings  by  knocking  over  a  chair  or 
two.  Attracted  by  the  racket  Louise  soon  came  down  stairs 
and  drove  the  devoted  animal  out  of  the  house  with  a  broom, 
the  while  holding  her  own  nose. 

Coon  waited  eagerly  at  the  door  until  the  boys  appeared, 
and  then  set  off  ahead  of  them,  looking  back  at  every  fork 
in  the  trail  for  directions.  They  crossed  the  branch  and  took 
a  road  leading  toward  the  prairie,  about  a  mile  distant.  Coon 
was  eagerly  watchful.  Every  few  rods  she  would  pause  with 
lifted  foot  and  "hark,"  as  the  boys  called  her  listening.  Pres- 
ently with  a  bound  and  sharp  yelp  she  sped  out  into  the  woods, 
the  boys  following  at  top  speed,  and  coming  up  just  in  time 
to  see  her  leap  upward  and  snatch  a  fine,  fat  gray  squirrel  from 
the  bole  of  a  tree.  This  unexpected  feat  nearly  paralyzed  the 
spectators  with  admiration,  and  despite  Coon's  fearful  odor, 
they  hugged  her  on  the  spot.  She  seemed  to  be  proud  of  her- 
self. Her  sparkling  eyes  and  expressive  antics  were  as  nearly 
talk  as  any  dog  can  approximate. 

Stowing  the  squirrel  in  their  game-bag,  and  giving  Coon 
very  minute  instructions,  the  boys  went  on  again  until  they 
reached  a  wood-pasture  belonging  to  the  nearest  neighbor. 
Through  this  enclosure  flowed  a  small  branch,  which  had  wide, 
grassy  bottom  lands  along  its  course,  scattered  through  which 
were  several  large  elm  trees. 

In  a  trice  Coon  was  over  the  fence,  capering  about  on  her 
hind  legs  under  one  of  these  elms,  whining  and  barking,  tell- 
ing in  the  plainest  dog-language  that  she  had  found  more  game. 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME.  155 

The  boys  quickly  followed  her,  and  upon  reaching  the  spot 
were  instantly  bedazzled! 

It  seemed  as  if  the  entire  elm-top  was  blossoming  with 
squirrels.  There  were  at  least  two  dozen,  some  lying  close  to 
the  limbs;  others  looking  for  a  way  to  escape,  and  a  few  that 
cocked  their  tails,  peering  down  upon  their  unexpected  ene- 
mies with  saucy  chattering. 

The  tree  stood  in  an  open  glade,  so  that  there  was  no 
chance  for  the  victims  to  escape  by  leaping  to  other  trees.  In 
a  huge  fork  of  the  elm  was  a  hole,  but  one  lucky  fellow  had 
taken  possession  of  this  retreat,  and  persistently  drove  out  all 
intruders. 

As  soon  as  he  could  command  his  nerves  Nathan  leveled 
the  gun,  and  with  its  crack  down  tumbled  a  big  fox-squirrel, 
whose  yellow  belly  presented  a  most  inviting  target.  The 
second  shot  was  equally  as  well  aimed,  but  when  he  came  to 
reload,  to  his  intense  chagrin,  he  found  that  the  wadding  had 
been  left  at  home. 

"Tear  out  some  of  yer  coat-lining,  ;.nd  I  '11  hike  back  home 
fer  some  paper,"  shouted  William. 

He  sped  away,  and  Nathan  extracted  enough  of  the  afore- 
said lining  to  make  one  shot;  but  then  he  happened  to  think 
that  such  destruction  of  his  clothes  might  bring  unpleasant 
results,  so  concluded  to  \vait  and  watch  for  William's  return. 

It  so  happened  that  the  Parson  himself  had  conceived  the 
idea  of  following  the  boys,  and  at  the  time  William  started 
home  was  but  a  few  hundred  yards  distant.  William  was 
overjoyed  to  meet  him,  and  gave  such  marvelous  accounts  of 


156  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

the  condition  of  the  elm  as  to  fetch  his  father  on  the  run.  He 
had  a  "Christian  Advocate"  in  his  pocket,  and  under  such  ex- 
traordinary inducements  sacrificed  it  at  once. 

"Hooray,  me  brave  boys,"  he  shouted  encouragingly,  as 
he  beheld  the  squirrel-studded  tree  top.  "Give  'em  goss!" 

Then  with  all  a  hunter's  zest  he  took  the  gun  and  made 
quick  exhibition  of  his  skill  as  a  marksman.  When  a  dozen 
hapless  squirrels  had  fallen,  some  of  the  remaining  ones  took 
fright  in  earnest,  jumping  from  the  tree  to  the  ground  and 
trying  to  flee  their  fate.  But  Coon  was  on  the  watch  and 
caught  one  or  two  before  they  got  a  good  start.  When  the  last 
one  disappeared  sixteen  victims  lay  about  on  the  grass,  a  heavy 
load  for  William,  who  proudly  wore  the  game-bag. 

Upon  the  way  home  the  boys  told  how  Coon  had  actually 
scaled  a  tree  and  caught  their  first  trophy;  but  the  Parson  was 
unbelieving  and  said  dubiously:  "Ump,  ump ;  fall  a  snake,  my 
sons."  However,  Coon  settled  the  matter  soon  by  repeating 
her  performance  only  in  a  more  brilliant  manner.  Then  the 
Parson  frankly  admitted  that  she  was  a  "mighty  good 
hunter." 

When  the  squirrels  were  dressed,  the  secret  of  so  many 
in  one  tree  was  fully  explained.  Their  paunches  were  chock 
full  of  elm-buds. 

A  delicious  pot-pie  gladdened  the  boys'  stomachs  that  even- 
ing, and  they  still  had  half  a  dozen  fine  squirrels  left  over. 
Everything  being  too  wet  for  outdoor  work  that  afternoon, 
the  Parson  allowed  the  boys  to  drive  their  mother  into  High- 
town,  where  they  sold  the  remainder  of  their  game  for  a  dol- 


TWO  KINDS  OF  GAME.  157 

lar.     This  handy  sum  enabled  them  to  buy  a  good  supply  of 
ammunition,  and  treat  their  mother  to  ice-cream. 

The  butcher  who  bought  their  squirrels  also  agreed  to  give 
them  forty  cents  for  the  skunk-hide  when  they  brought  it  in, 
and  they  returned  home  full  of  pride  in  their  day's  gain.  It 
had  been  a  time  of  unalloyed  pleasure;  a  real  rarity  in  their 
secluded  lives. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
FARM    LORE. 

PERHAPS  there  is  nothing  that  will  so  thoroughly  de- 
velop a  boy  with  active  brain  and  average  energy  as 
to  bury  him  two  miles  deep  in  the  woods,  on  a  grub- 
patch. 

Does  the  doubtful  reader  ask  how? 

Well,  he  becomes  a  child  of  Nature,  and  is  thrown  wholly 
on  his  own  resources.  Then  there  is  no  danger  of  contamina- 
tion from  evil  associates,  nor  indeed  from  anything  else.  The 
youth  is  left  to  the  impulses  of  his  own  solitary  genius. 

But  if  anyone  still  remains  dubious  about  the  truth  of  this 
theory  he  is  referred  to  Parson  Flint's  logic.  He  himself  had 
been  "born  and  raised  in  the  back-woods,"  and  was  accustomed 
to  regard  himself  as  a  fine  example  of  its  advantages. 

Now,  that  his  family  was  fully  anchored  on  the  farm,  Par- 
son Flint  was  happy. 

There  was  no  longer  any  danger  of  the  boys  "standing 
in  the  way  of  sinners,  or  sitting  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful." 
He  could  go  away  to  an  appointment  and  have  no  dread  of 
finding  the  youths  in  a  fight  with  some  son  of  Belial  upon  his 
return;  besides,  an  eternal  task  was  possible,  and  so  all  chance 
for  idle  habits  was  averted. 

Therefore,  as  we  have  said,  the  Parson  was  happy. 


FARM  LORE.  159 

But  lest  the  reader  should  fancy  this  repetition  common- 
place, we  must  remind  him  that  as  the  Apostle  looked  upon 
it,  "happiness"  was  an  entirely  different  article  from  the  usual 
types  of  felicity.  To  him  it  was  often  a  kind  of  congenial  dis- 
malness;  a  real  relish  of  "hard  trials  and  great  tribulations," 
since  he  believed  that  these  would  work  out  for  him  a  "far 
more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory." 

Even  in  rare  fits  of  hilarity  his  face  always  kept  an  under- 
smear  of  the  solemnity  with  which  he  looked  upon  life.  If  be- 
trayed into  extraordinary  mirth  he  usually  recovered  quickly, 
and  often  relapsed  into  his  usual  sobriety  with  an  inward 
groan; — a  kind  of  secret  plea  for  pardon  upon  such  weakness. 

Many  among  his  parishioners  failed  to  appreciate  such 
strange  enjoyment,  and  some  of  them  thought  him  sour  and 
morose.  Only  among  those  who  had  outlived  all  the  sun- 
shine of  youth  was  the  Parson's  style  of  thought  and  conduct 
.fully  appreciated. 

It  was  very  seldom  that  he  attracted  children,  and  when 
obliged  to  respond  to  his  advances,  they  usually  got  away  from 
him  at  the  first  opportunity.  He  always  asked  so  many  em- 
barrassing questions: 

"Are  you  good?  Do  you  behave  yourselves?  Do  you 
ever  forget  to  say  your  prayers?  Do  you  ever  tell  lies  or  say 
bad  words?" 

During  this  catechism  his  grim  face  usually  abashed  the 
children  very  much,  and  by  natural  instinct  they  always  gave 
the  most  favorable  accounts  of  themselves. 

The  Parson  was  a  true  type  of  old-time  Methodist  spirit 


160  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

and  energy.  He  utterly  abjured  everything  that  did  not  accord 
with  his  standards  of  piety  and  religious  consistency.  It  was 
his  own  ambition  to  rear  his  sons  after  this  inflexible  pattern, 
and  that  too  before  their  moral  bones  had  hardened.  Every 
immaturity  of  boyish  thought  or  freak  of  juvenile  mischief 
was  regarded  by  the  Parson  as  certain  evidence  of  "original 
sin;"  and  he  undertook  by  what  seemed  to  him  inspired  means 
to  reform  and  bring  them  up  in  the  way  they  should  go. 

But  even  now  that  these  wayward  youths  were  secluded 
on  a  farm,  the  Parson  had  to  be  absent  much  of  the  time,  for 
Hightown  circuit  was  by  no  means  a  small  charge.  When, 
therefore,  duty  called  the  Apostle  from  home,  the  boys  often 
followed  the  devices  of  their  own  imaginations. 

Being  deprived  of  companions  of  their  own  species,  they 
sought  others,  which,  if  not  so  interesting,  were  at  least  toler- 
able substitutes.  In  their  loneliness  they  studied  the  animals 
upon  the  farm,  and  conceived  many  queer  ideas  respecting 
them. 

The  place  had  sundry  specimens  of  stock,  such  as  an  extra 
horse;  a  half-dozen  sheep;  two  or  three  breeds  of  chickens;  ten 
or  a  dozen  hogs;  a  fine  Durham  calf;  and  what  was  more  re- 
markable, a  scrub  donkey  for  which  the  boys  had  traded  a 
couple  of  sheep  to  one  of  their  prairie  neighbors.  To  the 
hungry  minds  of  the  youths  all  these  animals  became  reasoning, 
thinking  creatures,  expressing  something  in  every  feature  and 
motion. 

As  Adam  is  said  to  have  done,  the  boys  named  "all  the 
beasts  of  the  field/'  and  very  few  of  the  names  were  entirely 


FARM  LORE.  161 

fanciful,  generally  being  suggested  by  some  peculiarity  of  the 
animal  considered. 

For  instance,  the  extra  horse,  a  tall,  short,  clumsy  brute, 
was  at  first  called  "Bobtail."  His  caudal  appendage  was  very 
short,  having  first  been  broken  and  then  cut  off  by  his  former 
cruel  owners,  who  tried  to  mal^e  him  pull  a  load  by  it  when 
he  balked,  a  bad  habit  he  had  if  put  in  a  team. 

The  loss  of  his  tail  had  rendered  "Bobtail"  moody  and 
sullen,  so  that  his  owners  sold  him  to  the  Parson  for  a  song. 
He  worked  very  well  alone,  but  when  hitched  up  with  another 
horse  would  not  budge  an  inch.  The  boys  soon  rechristened 
him  "Pe-coob-coob,"  this  was  the  sound  of  a  "nicker"  he  al- 
ways gave  when  anyone  approached  the  lot  to  feed  him. 

"Pe-coob-coob"  had  a  head  as  long  as  a  water-cask,  and 
looked  as  solemn  as  the  white  horse  in  Revelation.  Like  the 
Parson  he  "meditated"  much,  and  while  doing  so  always  stood 
under  a  particular  sapling  which  the  boys  called  his  "fig-tree;" 
here  he  would  doze  for  hours,  switching  his  stub  tail  up  and 
down,  and  occasionally  reaching  around  to  brush  a  fly  from 
his  sides  with  his  nose. 

At  such  times  his  under-lip  hung  down  an  inch  or  more 
below  the  upper;  and  he  had  a  habit  of  drawing  it  back  and 
up  at  one  corner,  as  if  making  a  wry  mouth  at  the  remembrance 
of  past  sorrows.  While  trotting  he  had  the  motions  of  a  stamp- 
mill,  and  this  was  a  powerful  inducement  for  the  rider  to  let 
him  walk,  a  gait  which  "Pe-coob-coob"  much  preferred.  When 
driven  to  a  bob-sled  or  plow,  he  would  stop  at  intervals  to  rest, 
and  at  such  times  he  would  look  back  as  if  to  explain  the  situa- 


1 62  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

tion,  while  no  amount  of  persuasion  would  induce  him  to  move 
until  he  felt  quite  ready.  By  Nathan  and  William  this  habit 
was  much  appreciated,  because  they  wanted  to  rest  oftener 
than  the  horse  did,  especially  when  plowing  among  the  grubs 
and  roots. 

The  pet  calf  was  called  "De-big-head,"  owing  to  the  ex- 
traordinary size  of  its  cranium,  which  winged  by  its  tobacco- 
leaf  like  ears,  struck  the  boys  as  something  excessively  comical. 

The  donkey  was  called  "Ump-ump,"  which  is  .as  nearly 
as  his  title  can  be  spelled.  The  name  arose  from  the  following 
incident: 

When  brought  to  the  farm  and  turned  into  the  lot,  the 
donkey  created  an  extraordinary  sensation  in  all  its  occupants, 
but  especially  in  the  mind  of  Daniel.  Daniel's  tail  had  never 
been  tampered  with,  and  so  for  a  Parson's  horse,  he  took  quite 
a  cheerful  view  of  life.  His  curiosity  was  consuming.  He 
looked  upon  the  new  arrival  with  amazement,  and  approached 
him  gingerly,  a  few  steps  at  a  time,  sending  forth  at  intervals 
a  loud  snort  of  salutation. 

Every  few  feet  he  would  cautiously  pause,  and  if  the  jack 
made  a  movement,  would  start  back  as  if  fearful  the  unheard 
of  phenomenon  might  go  off.  When  finally  the  donkey  raised 
his  thick  head  and  wagged  his  ponderous  ears  back  and  forth 
in  lazy  majesty,  the  horse  whirled  and  trotted  away  a  few  yards, 
only  to  begin  his  approach  again  with  more  ostentatious  cau- 
tion, approaching  nearer  the  dread  object  of  his  wondering 
investigation. 

At  last,  concluding  that  "Ump-ump"  was  not  an  infernal 


FARM  LORE.  163 

machine,  Daniel  concentrated  all  his  sociability,  in  a  sudden 
mighty  rush,  and  undertook  to  seize  the  donkey's  neck  with 
his  teeth.  But  to  his  astonishment  the  victim  turned  tail,  reefed 
his  ears  and  fled  around  the  lot,  Daniel  following  in  hot  pur- 
suit. 

Presently  the  horse  ran  him  into  a  corner  from  which 
there  was  no  escape.  He  was  about  to  reach  out  for  a  mouth- 
ful of  back  when  there  arose  a  long-drawn,  terror-stricken 
"Haa-w-w-e-aw-e-aww"  from  the  new  arrival,  who  promptly 
presented  his  rear,  and  when  his  pursuer  came  within  range,  said 
vigorously,  uUmp-ump!  Ump-ump!"  at  the  same  time  kick- 
ing so  rapidly  that  Daniel  was  entirely  held  at  bay. 

The  watching  boys  witnessed  this  remarkable  encounter 
with  yells  of  laughter,  and  ever  afterwards  called  the  donkey 
"Ump-ump." 

There  were  belonging  to  the  farm  three  principal  hogs 
and  several  others  of  lesser  importance.  The  first  of  the  nota- 
ble three  was  presented  to  Nathan  by  a  Hightown  physician. 
He  was  a  sickly- looking  brute,  but  owing  to  change  of  scenery 
and  good  care  this  animal  grew  into  a  long,  slim,  spike-nosed 
rooter  of  remarkable  appetite.  He  was  known  as  "Doctor," 
or  "Lop-ear,"  according  to  the  humor  of  his  owner.  Although 
nearly  six  feet  in  length,  he  was  little  more  than  a  foot  through. 
He  had  a  tail-position,  but  no  tail;  and  in  fly  time  he  constantly 
twitched  the  place  where  this  missing  member  should  have 
been.  His  ears  were  like  cabbage-leaves,  entirely  concealing 
his  small  eyes,  over  which  they  hung,  two  vast,  grisly  concaves. 
So  large  were  they,  and  so  pendant  that  it  was  hard  for  the 


1 64  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS.  - 

animal  to  hear;  he  was  obliged  to  raise  his  head  very  high  in 
order  to  tell  when  the  hogs  were  called  to  feed. 

"Lop-ear's"  mouth  extended  far  back  toward  his  shoul- 
ders; and  when  corn  was  thrown  to  him,  he  always  snatched 
three  or  four  ears  and  ran  off  to  enjoy  them  alone.  But  de- 
spite a  ferocious  appetite,  he  never  acquired  any  fat,  and  this 
was  a  standing  marvel  until  he  was  finally  butchered;  then 
the  Parson  said  that  "his  lights  had  grown  to  his  ribs." 

The  second  of  these  notable  porkers  was  a  plump,  pretty 
white  Berkshire,  to  which  dirt  would  hardly  stick.  A  farmer's 
wife  on  the  prairie  had  kindly  presented  this  pig  to  Mrt.  Flint, 
and  the  animal  was  named  after  her  donor.  Maggie  was  a 
very  friendly,  sociable  hog,  and  generally  got  the  best  of  every- 
thing, which  made  her  very  proud. 

The  third  hog  of  the  trio  was  Maggie's  antithesis.  She  was 
a  sharp-nosed,  wicked-eyed,  long-tailed  vixen,  with  a  pair  of 
keen,  curving  tusks.  A  dog  had  bitten  off  one  of  her  ears, 
and  the  other,  a  sharp,  triangular  appendage,  stuck  straight 
up  from  her  head  like  a  jackal's.  She  had  a  cruel  voracity, 
and  was  the  embodiment  of  all  that  was  low  and  cunning. 

The  boys  called  her  "Ration, "  a  corruption  of  Hessian, 
which,  in  the  Parson's  estimation,  stood  for  everything  mean 
and  base.  "Ration"  deserved  her  name.  She  was  rapacious, 
thievish  and  without  conscience.  She  was  artful,  hateful  and 
low-bred;  a  very  outlaw  among  decent  swine. 

During  the  summer  "Ration"  continually  wallowed  in 
the  mire,  and  most  of  the  time  wore  a  ball  of  dried  mud  nearly 
the  size  of  a  quart  cup  on  her  tail,  while  her  sides  were  plas- 


FARM  LORE.  165 

tered  all  over.  If  there  happened  to  be  a  hole  anywhere  in  the 
fence  she  could  find  it;  and  if  there  was  not,  she  often  managed 
to  make  one.  When  she  got  into  the  field  to  root  up  the  corn, 
she  entirely  forgot  the  place  of  entrance;  but  once  out  again, 
she  always  knew  where  to  crawl  in.  The  Parson  was  greatly 
annoyed  at  her  depredations;  for  a  long  time  the  place  of  her 
entry  was  unknown,  and  William  said  she  must  climb  the 
fence. 

At  last  her  ravages  of  the  corn-field  became  so  persistent 
that  the  boys  determined  to  watch  her:  so  one  day  after  Coon 
had  dogged  her  from  the  field,  they  piped  her  afar  off,  and 
witnessed  the  following  astonishing  exhibition  of  her  cunning 
methods. 

"Ration"  went  grumbling  off  down  the  road,  stopping 
occasionally  to  look  and  listen.  Not  perceiving  anyone  in  pur- 
suit she  worked  her  way  around  the  field-fence,  stopping  fin- 
ally at  the  branch.  Here  a  rotten  tree-trunk  had  fallen  across 
a  panel  and  mashed  it  down.  One  end  of  this  log  rested  in- 
side the  field,  and  a  long  pole  had  been  laid  over  the  crushed 
rails,  leaving  a  space  of  two  feet  between  it  and  the  log. 

After  meditating  a  few  minutes,  and  glancing  suspiciously 
all  about,  "Ration"  mounted  the  rotten  log,  and  deliberately 
walked  along  this  bridge  under  the  pole  and  entered  the  field. 
The  boys  were  both  astonished  and  overjoyed.  They  hastened 
back  to  the  house  and  told  the  incident  to  the  Parson,  but  he 
hooted  at  such  an  incredible  story.  Yet  so  positive  were  the 
boys  in  their  details  that  finally  he  told  them  to  drive  "Ration" 
out  again,  and  he  himself  would  go  to  see  if  she  could  really 


1 66  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

do  such  a  thing.  The  boys  obeyed,  and  then  with  the  Parson 
cut  across  the  field  to  reach  the  spot  before  the  marauder  had 
time  to  get  there. 

Presently  they  heard  the  scolding  growl  of  the  old  thief 
as  she  approached  along  the  fence.  The  Parson  got  a  stout 
hickory  club,  and  telling  the  boys  to  get  out  of  sight,  hid  him- 
self in  the  weeds  near  Ration's  bridge,  and  awaited  her  com- 
ing. She  reached  the  log,  stopped  as  usual  and  seemed  to  be 
thinking.  Finally  she  mounted  sullenly  and  began  her  old 
tactics.  Upon  reaching  the  fence  she  seemed  to  scent  danger, 
halted,  swung  her  mud-ball,  wiggled  her  solitary  ear  and  ap- 
peared to  meditate  a  retreat.  But  love  of  mischief  finally  won 
the  decision,  and  with  a  guttural  grunt  she  stuck  her  head 
under  the  overlying  pole  to  enter  the  field.  This  was  the  Par- 
son's opportunity.  He  sprang  up  in  wrath,  and  smote  her  a 
mighty  blow  along  the  earless  side  of  her  head,  knocking  her 
clear  off  the  log  into  a  big  mudhole  of  the  branch.  As  the 
blow  took  effect,  she  uttered  a  loud  scream,  and  lunged  about 
in  the  mire  until  she  regained  her  feet,  and  having  done  so 
went  barking  off  down  the  bed  of  the  stream,  never  halting 
until  she  was  out  of  sight. 

The  boys  roared  with  laughter,  but  the  Apostle  remarked 
savagely  as  he  hurled  the  club  in  Ration's  wake: 

"There,  ye  old  torment!  I  reckon  it's  the  last  time  ye '11 
be  wantin'  to  try  any  more  of  sich  shines.  Mebbe  ye  '11  want 
to  dig  a  tunnel  next." 

He  then  proceeded  to  mend  the  broken  fence-panel,  quot- 
ing as  a  lesson  for  the  boys,  "A  stitch  in  time  saves  nine."  But 


FARM  LORE.  167 

Ration  was  completely  cured  this  time;  she  never  got  into  the 
field  again. 

The  most  joyless  hour  of  the  old  wretch  was  at  feeding 
time.  With  her  sharp  tusks  she  would  mercilessly  rip  up  the 
sides  of  her  companions,  and  if  not  prevented  would  drive 
them  away  from  the  food.  However  the  boys  knew  her  tricks, 
and  had  collected  an  arsenal  of  stones,  cobs  and  clubs  in  one 
corner  of  the  lot  with  which  they  kept  Hation  at  bay  while 
the  other  hogs  ate.  Many  a  crack  did  she  get  upon  her  ugly 
snout  as  she  tried  to  spear  her  associates.  After  receiving  one 
she  would  run  barking  off,  to  a  safe  distance,  and  stand  there 
sullenly  working  the  button  on  her  nose,  saying  "Roooh!" 
When  the  other  pigs  had  eaten  a  fair  share  of  the  corn  or 
slops,  then  the  guard  would  retire,  and  Hation  would  sweep 
in  like  a  besom  of  wrath,  making  everything  fly  before  her, 
especially  what  corn  might  be  left. 


Special  chickens  had  their  titles.  The  big  Cochin-China 
rooster  was  called  "Co-hoke,"  from  an  ejaculation  that  always 
escaped  him  when  surprised  or  excited. 

A  favorite  hen  was  called  "Ala"  because  she  held  her 
wings  in  such  a  queer  fashion  during  hot  weather.  In  their 
old  blue-backed  spelling-book,  the  boys  found  that  the  Latin 
"ala"  meant  wing,  and  immediately  the  old  hen  received  that 
name.  "Ala"  was  an  exceedingly  happy  hen,  and  frequently 
sang  a  song  of  sweet  content  which  sounded  much  as  follows: 

"Kwaw-aw-aw-awk;  kwak  kwak,  kna-aw-a-ak-awk!" 


1 68  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

She  could  cackle  louder  and  longer  than  any  other  hen 
on  the  place,  and  when  imposed  upon  could,  and  would  fight 
to  beat  anything. 

The  big  lone  gander  was  named  "Crank,"  from  the  note 
of  his  terrible  din  while  attacking  "Co-hoke."  For  the  rooster 
considered  the  presence  of  this  stranger  in  his  harem  an  in- 
trusion, and  forever -tried  to  resent  it.  Invariably  however,  he 
got  the  worst  of  the  battle.  The  powerful  gander  would  seize 
a  bunch  of  feathers  upon  Co-hoke's  back,  hang  onto  them  and 
beat  terrifically  with  his  long  wings  until  the  plumage  came 
out.  Then  Co-hoke  would  flee  to  the  fence  top,  but  the  victor, 
shaking  the  feathers  from  his  mouth  would  elevate  his  long 
neck  and  march  about,  screaming  triumphantly  at  the  routed 
enemy. 

From  its  strident  note  of  warning  when  anything  strange 
happened  about  the  place,  the  single  Guinea-hen  was  called 
"Pot-rack!" 

The  old  mother-cat,  always  with  a  brood  of  kittens  at  her 
heels  was  called  "Hoo-woo,"  it  being  the  sound  she  made 
when  purring. 

The  Thomas-cat,  ever  wise-looking  and  sedate,  was  known 
as  "Shikespoke,"  a  beastly  corruption  of  Shakespeare,  who,  the 
boys  read  in  their  school-reader,  was  the  wisest  man  in  history. 

Shikespoke  was  the  laziest  cat  in  the  world.  He  would 
lie  under  a  hot  stove,  or  in  the  chimney  corner  until  the  very 
hair  was  scorched  from  his  back.  When  the  heat  finally  be- 
came unbearable  he  would  squirm,  maow  and  wriggle  until 
forced  to  vacate  the  place.  Then  he  would  slowly  drag  him- 


FARM  LORE. 


169 


self  out,  arch  his  spine  and  look  the  very  picture  of  injury  and 
discontent. 

Thus  through  the  entire  domestic  fraternity,  down  to  the 
smallest  animal  that  merited  any  special  attention,  the  boys 
invented  some  sort  of  odd  name  for  them  all.  Even  the  Apostle 
finally  adopted  many  of  these  names,  although  at  first  he  used 
them  only  in  sarcastic  contempt  for  their  "foolishness."  To  the 
lonely  urchins  however,  all  these  animals  became  pets  and  com- 
panions, furnishing  numerous  diversions  for  them  as  time 
went  by. 

Occasionally  they  may  have  been  cruel  to  these  dumb  play- 
mates, but  never  with  real  intention  to  be  so.  And  if  they 
briskly  clubbed  Ration,  or  punched  Ump-Ump  with  a  sharp 
stick,  or  threw  clods  at  the  chattering  Guinea-fowl  to  the  hurt 
of  these  creatures,  it  was  soon  forgotten  by  both  persecutors 
and  victims.  Usually  the  punished  animal  got  an  extra  feed, 
or  some  other  mark  of  special  attention  to  offset  what  scare  or 
hurt  had  come  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
"THE  ROD  OF  CORRECTION." 

CORN-PLANTING  had  gone  by.    It  wfcs  the  first  work 
of  this  kind  the  boys  had  ever  done,  and  before  the  job 
was  finished  they  were  sick  and  tired  of  its  monotony. 
But  one  trifling  incident  had  happened  during  the  time, 
and  this  the  boys  had  completely  forgotten  until  it  was  called  to 
their  minds  by  the  Parson  and  a  five-foot  hickory;  then  they  had 
cause  for  remembering  the  matter  very  distinctly. 

One  day  while  dropping  corn  from  a  tin  pail  in  which 
the  supply  was  carried.  Nathan  was  bare-footed,  and  hap- 
A  pened  to  tread  upon  a  hidden  black-berry  brier.  He  sprang 
into  the  air,  and  in  the  awkward  lunge  spilled  nearly  a 
quart  of  corn  on  the  ground,  at  the  same  time  managing  to 
kick  some  dirt  over  it. 

Being  hurt  as  well   as  strongly  provoked,  he  did   not 
TRAMPED  ov     stop  to  pjcjc  up  wnat  ne  had  spilled,  but  covered   it  over 

A  BRIER. 

with  an  inch  of  soil  and  left  it  to  bear  witness  against  him  in 
the  day  of  its  resurrection.  In  three  or  four  weeks  from  that 
time  the  fatal  day  dawned. 

When  the  corn  was  up  about  hand  high,  Parson  Flint 
harnessed  Pe-coob-coob  to  a  small  plow  and  went  out  to  cul- 
tivate the  crop.  He  took  the  boys  along  with  him  and  said: 

"Now  seize  yer  hoes  and  fuller  along  behind  me;  un- 

170 


THE  ROD  OF  CORRECTION.  171 

kiver  all  the  stalks  the  plow  throws  dirt  on,  an'  teck  out  all 
the  weeds  that  I  fail  to  reach." 

The  day  was  decidedly  sultry,  and  Pe-coob-coob  was  full 
of  the  "meditating"  spirit.  He  wanted  to  reflect  upon  his 
past  life,,  and  evidently  thought  this  could  be  done  best  when 
he  was  sheltered  under  the  shadow  of  his  favorite  sapling  in 
the  barn-lot. 

But  the  Parson  was  full  of  energy,  and  had  no  patience 
with  the  old  horse's  obstinacy,  especially  as  the  sun  grew  hotter 
and  the  sweltering  corn-field  compared  so  exasperatingly  with 
the  shady  side  of  the  house,  where  he  longed  to  be.     More- 
over the  plowing  had  to  be  done  in  a  spot  off  which  forest 
growth  had  been  newly  cleared;  and  the  plow  point  would 
catch  in  sundry  grubs  and  roots  which  lay  in  ambush  to  wreck 
the  Parson's  morals.     When  the  plow  came  in  contact  with 
one  of  these  Satanic  devices  its  handles  would  flop  about  as- 
tonishingly;  and  as   the  Apostle  very  often  had   to  hold  the 
plow  with  one  hand  in  order  to  slap  Pe-coob-coob's  rascally 
old  ribs  with  the  lines,  the  perverse  handles  sometimes  struck 
him  amidships  with  terrible  force,  knocking  quick  ejaculations 
out  of  him  unawares.    Three  or 
four  hours  of  such  tribulations 
had    rendered    the    Parson    like 
Nebuchadnezzar's  fiery  furnace, 
seven  times  hotter  than  he  was 
wont  to  be  heated,   and  caused 
him  to  project  a  sermon  on  the 

future  condition  of  the  lost. 
i* 

SOMETIMES  STRUCK  HIM  AMIDSHIPS. 


172  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

While  thus  exasperated  he  reached  the  spot  where  Nathan's 
accident  had  formerly  occurred;  and  lo,  what  at  a  distance  he 
had  supposed  to  be  a  thrifty  grass-plot  turned  out  to  be  a  mass 
of  cornstalks,  all  growing  finely,  and  which  seemed  to  be  doing 
much  better  than  the  legitimate  planting,  despite  their  very 
crowded  condition. 

The  Apostle  understood  the  situation  at  once  and  looked 
up  quickly  to  call  the  boys.  But  they  had  slipped  off  to  the 
house  for  a  drink,  and  having  taken  it  had  been  attracted  by 
their  mother's  presence  in  the  cool  sitting  room,  where  they 
stretched  themselves  out  upon  the  floor  to  take  a  rest. 

Plowing  angrily  through  the  bunch  of  corn,  the  Parson 

reached  the  fence,  and  drove  the  horse  into  a  corner,  where 

\ 

the  tired  brute  was  glad  to  stand  without  hitching.  Then  jerk- 
ing off  a  hickory  sprout  some  five  feet  in  length,  that  tapered 
beautifully  to  a  hard  bud  on  the  end,  the  Apostle  strode  towards 
the  house  with  retribution  in  his  eye,  and  the  fell  instrument 
of  execution  in  his  hand. 

William  lay  near  the  front  door,  and  he  caught  sight  of 
the  avenger  coining  to  overtake  them;  so  just  as  the  irate  Par- 
son stepped  upon  the  back  porch,  the  boys  slid  silently  out  of 
the  front  door  and  in  a  jiffy  were  back  in  the  field,  hard  at 
work.  Both  the  culprits  supposed  it  was  their  desertion  that 
had  aroused  the  Nemesis  of  justice,  yet  they  wondered  at  such 
extreme  measures  for  so  trifling  an  offense. 

"Whacher  reckon  he  's  got  that  hick'ry  fer?"  asked  Wil- 
liam replanting  a  missing  hill  of  corn  from  seed  in  his  pocket. 

"What  'se  always  got  one  fer?"   replied  Nathan  disgust- 


THE  ROD  OF  CORRECTION.  173 

edly,  emphasizing  his  reply  by  a  tremendous  thump  of  the  hoe 
upon  a  hard  clod.  "He  wuz  a-goin'  to  larrup  us  for  restin7 
when  he  wuz  at  work."  Then  at  the  thought  he  uttered  a  hor- 
rible objurgation:  "I'll  jist  be  diddle-de-diddle-de-daggon  if 
I  don't  wish  the  dern  corn  wuz  in  Halifax  and  him  with  it  I" 

"Where  's  them  triflin'  boys?"  asked  the  Parson  sternly  as 
he  entered  the  house  and  did  not  see  them. 

Their  mother  had  not  at  all  understood  the  boys'  sudden 
and  silent  exit  until  she  heard  the  Parson's  heavy  step.  Then 
perceiving  the  gad  in  his  horny  fist  she  sighed  deeply  and  said: 

"They  were  here,  but  they  went  back  to  their  work 
awhile  ago." 

Dear  old  heart!  From  her  non-committal  tone  one  might 
have  thought  it  had  been  an  hour  since  the  boys  went  back  to 
the  field. 

The  Apostle  made  no  comment,  but  turning  with  a  jerk 
he  started  again  for  the  spot  where  the  boys  were  now  bestow- 
ing most  laborious  efforts  upon  the  corn. 

"He's  a-comin',"  said  William  in  a  low  voice;  and  just 
then  Nathan  having  finished  his  row  straightened  up  and  saw 
the  stern-faced  Parson  striding  towards  them  with  "the  rod 
of  correction"  gripped  in  his  redoubtable  fist.  It  happened 
that  he  reached  William  first,  whom  he  asked  with  a  sharp 
snap  to  his  words: 

"Young  man,  was  it  you  that  spilt  a  peck  of  corn  over 
yander," — pointing  towards  the  place  with  his  switch, — -"and 
then  kivered  it  up  to  go  to  waste?" 

In  a  flash  Nathan  now  understood  everything,  and  from 


i74  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

his  hard  inflection  he  knew  that  the  Parson  meant  business.  The 
first  second  brought  to  his  heart  a  kind  of  sickening  dread; 
but  the  next,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  all  fear  of  punish- 
ment left  him. 

As  the  Apostle  spoke  William  looked  up,  and  with  his  fear- 
haunted  face  all  blossoming  with  relief  answered  what  was 
rather  a  novelty  for  him; — the  straight  truth. 

"No,  sir;  it  wasn't  me." 

"I  done  it,"  remarked  Nathan  in  a  tone  of  dogged  uncon- 
cern. "I  tramped  on  a  thorn  that  made  me  jump,  and  when 
the  corn  was  spilled  there  was  so  much  dirt  in  it  I  did  n't  stop 
to  pick  it  up." 

"No,  1  see  ye  did  n't,"  said  the  Parson  with  a  metallic 
rasp  in  his  tones.  "Ye  kivered  it  up  to  save  a  little  work,  and 
act  a  lie  because  ye  thought  it  'ud  never  be  found  out." 

He  paused  to  let  these  words  sink  deep  in  the  culprit's 
mind,  or,  at  least,  to  get  a  fair  start  before  proceeding  to  drive 
them  still  further  in  with  the  gad.  Nathan  hoed  along  indus- 
triously, and  made  no  reply.  Somehow  he  felt  strangely  brave; 
—even  a  little  defiant.  And  the  contrast  of  this  sensation  with 
that  other  feeling,  which  can  be  described  only  as  a  cramping 
recoil  of  body  and  soul  under  the  slow  torture  of  the  Par- 
son's threats,  quite  astonished  him  and  he  grew  almost  reckless. 

After  an  ominous  interval  in  which  William  pulled  up 
several  stalks  of  corn  instead  of  weeds,  so  nervous  was  he,  the 
Apostle  asked  with  that  bitten-off  inflection  which  meant  an 
end  of  parley: 

"What  did  ye  kiver  up  that  corn  fer,  an'  try  to  act  a  lie?" 


THE  ROD  OF  CORRECTION.  175 

"  'Cause  I  knowed  you  'd  lick  the  hide  off  uv  me  anyway, 
if  ye  found  it  out!"  barked  Nathan  in  a  voice  that  fairly  par- 
alyzed William,  and  so  took  the  Parson  aback  that  his  jaw 
dropped  fully  an  inch,  while  the  sprout  hung  limp  in  his  re- 
laxing, hand.  •  . 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  His  jaw  shut  with  a  click, 
and  his  fingers  tightened  ori  the  butt  of  the  switch  like  a  vise. 
With  three  long  strides  he  reached  the  foolish  youth,  and  seiz- 
ing him  by  the  arm  rained  a  perfect  tempest  of  blows  over 
his  shoulders  and  back.  Nathan  had  on  no  coat,  and  the  pun- 
ishment hurt  him  like  fire;  but  he  clamped  his  teeth  and  held 
his  breath  until  he  was  like  to  have  burst. 

"Ye '11  sass  me,  will  ye?" — whack,  swish,  killip!  "Ye 've 
come  to  a  purty  pass  now,  ain't  ye?" — whack,  swish,  whack! 
"But  I  '11  learn  ye  a  thing  ur  two  yet  if  I  'm  not  mistaken," 
snapped  out  the  chastiser  between  his  vigorous  blows. 

"Beat!  beat!  lick!  Kill  me  if  ye  want  to,"  screamed  Na- 
than in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  rage  and  pain.  "I  want  to  die 
anyhow!  Beat!  beat!  kill  me  an'  be  done  with  it!" 

And  the  Parson  freely  accepted  the  invitation;  he  by 
no  means  spared  either  rofl  or  child.  Beginning  afresh  on 

the    boy's    shoulders,    he    worked    carefully    down;    but    the 

• 

harder   he   lashed    the   louder  Nathan   screamed   for  him   to 
lay  it  on. 

By  this  time  William  had  recovered  his  wandering  wits, 
and  he  verily  believed  Nathan  was  being  murdered.  Bawl- 
ing at  the  top  of  his  voice  he  started  for  the  house  as  fast  as 
the  stone-bruise  on  his  heel  would  permit.  His  mother  heard 


176 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


him  yelping,  and  came  to  meet  him,  knowing  that  trouble  was 
afloat,  although  the  full  import  of  it  did  not  dawn  upon  her 
until  she  caught  sight  of  the  fracas  in  the  field  .  William  came 
up  with  long  crow-hops,  panting  and  calling: 

"Oh,  ma,  come  quick! 
Pa's  a-killin'  Nathan!" 

But  from  the  noise  made 
by  the  victim  it  was  evident 
that  he  lacked  much  of  being 
dead  just  at  that  moment,  for 
he  could  still  be  heard 
screeching  viciously: 

"Kill  me!  beat,  beat!  kill 
me!"  and  the  Parson,  nothing 
loth,  was  heartily  fulfilling 
at  least  a  part  of  his  demand. 

In  his  descent  over  the  boy's  body  he  reached  the  legs, 
and  Nathan's  trousers  being  rolled  up  nearly  to  his  knees,  the 
executioner's  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  naked  calves;  quick  as 
a  flash  the  lithe  hickory  lapped  around  them,  its  hard  bud 
cutting  the  skin  like  a  lash.  Just  as  Mrs.  Flint  reached  the 
spot  the  blood  flowed. 

"Oh,  pa,  look!  You're  cutting  the  blood  out  of  the  boy," 
she  cried  in  an  agonized  voice.  Then,  seeing  that  the  Parson 
was  too  much  absorbed  in  business  to  heed  her  words,  she  did 
what  she  had  never  done  before;  interfering,  she  grasped  the 
brawny  arm  that  was  flaying  her  child  and  stopped  the 
blows. 


"OH  MA!    COME  QUICK." 


THE  ROD  OF  CORRECTION.  177 

This  unheard  of  thing  brought  the  Parson  to  his  senses. 
He  let  go  Nathan's  arm,  but  from  very  force  of  habit  began 
those  inevitable  questions  that  always  followed  such  exer- 
cises: 

"D  'ye  think  ye  '11  ever  be  guilty  of  the  like  of  this  ag'in?" 
but  the  boy  was  sobbing  in  his  mother's  arms;  the  first  sign 
of  weakness  he  had  shown  during  the  entire  affair. 

"Yes,  yes;  he  will  be  good,  pa;  you've  whipped  him 
enough;  he  won't  be  bad  any  more,"  replied  Mrs.  Flint,  rain- 
ing tears  all  over  Nathan's  head,  the  while  holding  him  to  her 
heart  as  if  she  never  intended  letting  him  go  again. 

The  Parson  feeling  it  his  duty  to  act  as  if  nothing  unusual 
had  happened,  stood  with  arms  out  and  hands  on  his  hips,  ad- 
dressing Nathan  as  if  it  had  been  he  that  had  promised  refor- 
mation: 

"Well,  this  ain't  a  circumstance  to  what  I  '11  give  ye  if 
ye  ever  do  the  like  ag'in!  Now,  see  if  ye  kin  git  back  to  yer 
work,  and  never  do  ^ou  try  to  sass  me  any  more!" 

Then  to  avoid  any  attempt  to  enforce  these  commands  he 
turned  and  walked  away.  Old  Pe-coob-coob  was  dozing  com- 
fortably in  the  fence  corner,  and  the  Parson  started  him  going 
again,  wreaking  upon  his  stubborn  old  hide  all  the  self-loath- 
ing and  reactionary  disgust  that  began  to  fill  his  heart.  Wil- 
liam went  blubbering  to  work,  but  Nathan,  weak  from  the 
nervous  strain  was  taken  to  the  house  by  his  mother,  who  put 
a  soft  bandage  on  his  wounded  leg,  crying  bitterly  as  she  did 
so.  When  it  was  done  up  with  infinite  tenderness,  she  rolled 
the  trousers  down  over  it  to  hide  the  wound;  then  she  kissed 


1 78  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

him  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  while  straining  him  to  her 
breast: 

"Be  a  good  boy  for  my  sake,  Nathan.  I  believe  it  would 
kill  mother  to  have  such  a  thing  happen  again." 

After  a  brief  rest  Nathan  went  back  to  his  work,  feeling 
very  bitter  and  subdued.  The  Parson  never  afterwards  referred 
to  this  episode;  and  for  a  long  time  was  not  nearly  so  prone 
to  fault-finding,  and  did  not  find  half  so  many  excuses  for  cor- 
rection as  usual.  It  is  fair  to  remark,  too,  that  his  mariner 
greatly  softened  toward  the  boys;  and  he  always  looked  un- 
comfortable when  he  saw  Nathan  examining  his  wounded 
leg.  True,  he  said  never  a  word  about  it;  but  what  do  words 
signify  if  the  heart  be  all  right? 

William,  however,  marveled  greatly,  being  much  bedaz- 
zled. It  was  all  so  novel  and  unexpected.  He  remembered 
the  scene  long  afterward  with  a  feeling  of  awe;  and  some- 
how the  subject  seemed  to  be  too  impressive  for  light  discus- 
sion. He  seldom  referred  to  it,  and  when  he  did  speak  of  it 
always  indicated  it  as  "that  time." 

He  could  not  understand  what  had  aroused  Nathan  to 
such  incredible  disregard  of  the  Parson's  direful  wrath,  some- 
thing William  fancied  must  be  next  to  the  vengeance  of  God. 

With  Nathan  it  was  a  kind  of  moral  epoch;  one  of  those 
sudden  awakenings  of  the  nature,  that  bring  to  life  ideas  and 
qualities  that  lie  dormant  in  growing  youth.  The  punish- 
ment had  been  severe,  but  not  nearly  so  much  as  William  in 
his  terror  had  imagined;  and  such  occasions  had  been  too  com- 
mon in  the  boys1  lives  for  them  to  dwell  upon  it. 


THE  ROD  OF  CORRECTION.  179 

Nathan  himself  seemed  thereafter  to  have  clearer  ideas 
of  justice  in  the  matter  of  punishments;  and  although  punished 
often  at  other  times,  he  submitted  with  lack  of  protest  that  se- 
cretly astonished  the  Parson,  stern  as  he  always  was. 

In  many  things  the  youth  was  a  better  and  more  obedient 
boy;  so  the  Apostle  once  said  to  his  wife, — and  the  good  man 
felt  his  remorse  very  much  modified  on  account  of  these  re- 
sults. Besides,  he  reasoned  that  the  course  he  had  taken  was 
the  Scriptural  way,  consequently  it  could  not  be  wrong. 

But  always  down  in  his  heart  Nathan  seemed  to  hear  that 
distressed  whisper  of  his  patient  mother: 

"Be  a  good  boy  for  my  sake,  Nathan;  I  believe  it  would 
kill  mother  if  this  should  happen  again!" 


T 


f 


CHAPTER   XV. 
"SOME  FOOLISHNESS." 

HE    Summer,    so    full    of    hot,    uncomfortable    days 
dragged  slowly  along,  and  the  latter  part  of  July 
blackberry  season  came  on.     Fence  corners  on  the 
farm  and  great  patches  of  ground  on  the  prairie,  a 
mile  away,  were  dense  with  bushes,  from  which  jetty  festoons 
of  delicious  fruit  hung  ripening  every  day. 

The  Parson's  family  gathered  and  took  great  loads  of  them 
to  town  until  they  became  a  drug  on  the  market,  after  which 
they  proceeded  to  can,  preserve  and  "jell"  them  for  winter's 
use. 

One  sultry  afternoon,  after  having  cooked  dinner  and 
cleared  away  the  dishes,  Mrs.  Flint  looked  with  a  sigh  of 
weariness  upon  three  brimming  buckets  of  berries  that  stood 
waiting  immediate  attention. 

The  Parson  was  dozing  on  the  shady  side  of  the  house, 
tipped  back  in  a  splint-bottomed  chair  as  usual,  and  hold- 
"The  Life  of  Nathan  Bangs"  loosely  in  one  hand.    The 
girls,  who  had  spent  the  entire  morning  at  the  berry- 
patches,   had  eaten   dinner  and   retired  to  the  cool  sit- 
ting-room, where  they  were  enjoying  a  restful  nap. 

Everywhere    the    atmosphere    was    dancing    with 

1 80 


I5l.ACkHF.RRY    SEASON'. 


SOME  FOOLISHNESS.  181 

heat-waves.  All  the  leaves  hung  listlessly  from  their  stems, 
and  not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring.  Down  at  the  lower  side 
of  the  field  a  noisy  rain-crow  could  be  heard  screaming,  and 
a  few  puffy  white  clouds,  known  to  the  boys  as  "thunder- 
heads,"  were  slowly  rising  in  the  West,  pearly  pink  with  the 

I 

fierce  rays  of  the  already  stooping  sun.  It  was  hardly  a  day 
to  beget  energy  or  stimulate  one  to  great  action;  but  Mrs.  Flint 
was  not  a  woman  who  hesitated  long  before  any  task  that  fell 
to  her  lot,  so  stirring  up  the  embers  of  the  kitchen  fire,  she  was 
soon  sweltering  in  steam  from  the  simmering  fruit. 

A  large  brass  kettle  of  slops  was  boiling  on  the  back  of 
the  stove,  and  finding  that  the  room  jt  occupied  was  needed, 
she  went  to  the  porch  to  call  one  of  the  boys.  They  were 
perched  upon  the  lot  fence  in  the  shade  of  a  hickory  sapling, 
making  goose-quill  pop-guns  from  which  to  shoot  potato  stop- 
pers. 

"Nathan,  son  ;  come  empty  this  slop  to  the  pigs  for  mother," 
called  Mrs.  Flint.  "Be  quick  about  it;  I  want  the  kettle." 

Nathan  jumped  from  the  fence  and  went  to  obey,  tread- 
ing gingerly  through  the  burning  dust  of  the  road,  and  keep- 
ing in  the  shade  as  much  as  possible  to  save  his  bare  feet. 

"Be  careful  it  do  n't  slop  over  and  scald  you,"  warned 
his  mother,  handing  him  the  kettle  at  the  door.  "The  stuff 


is  boiling  hot." 

At  these  last  words  a  very  wicked  idea  entered  Nathan's 
head.    He  had  noticed  old  Ration  lying  in  a  fence  corner  about  / 

thirty  yards  from  the  pig-trough;  she  generally  deposited  her-     ^ 

/  ^ 
self  there  about  feeding  time  in  order  to  be  first  at  the  feast.   ** 


82 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


As  he  went  by,  Nathan  coughed  at  William;  that  youth  in- 
stantly suspended  his  work  to  see  what  would  happen.  The  loud 
splatter  of  the  slop  when  poured  into  the  trough  aroused  Ha- 
tion  in  a  hurry.  She  came  bolting  around  the  corner,  full  of 
expectations  of  a  solitary  meal,  for  none  of  the  other  hogs  were 
in  sight.  Upon  seeing  Nathan  she  halted  abruptly  at  a  respect- 
ful distance,  signifying  both  her  caution  and  discontent  in  a 
deep,  growling  grunt.  Great  was  her  astonishment,  however, 
when  the  enemy  retired  quickly,  and  climbed  upon  the  fence! 
This  was  her  opportunity;  she  broke  into  a  quick  gallop  for 
the  trough  and  did  not  stand  on  ceremony,  but  plunged  her 
slim  snout  into  the  slop  nearly  to  her  eyes. 

"Weee!    Wooh!    Wooh!    Wooh!"  she  exclaimed  loudly. 
Then  elevating  her  stinging  nose  at  an  angle  of  thirty  de- 
grees, she  went  barking  off  in  the  direction  from  which  she  had 
come,  stopping  about  five  yards  away  to  reflect. 

Presently  it  was  evident  that  greed  was  stronger  than. pain; 

she  seemed  not  to  comprehend  that 
the  trouble  was  with  the  slop,  but 
evidently  fancied  some  new  kind 
of  club  had  warmed  her  snout.    So 
\  after  a  short  time  she  began  slowly 
to  work  her  way  back  towards  the 
trough,    and    when   no    objections 
were  made  to  her  approach,  she  made 
a    second    rush,    this    time    plunging 
into   the  slop   with   both   fore-feet,   and   fathoming 
it  about  six  inches  for  what  solids  might  be  at  the 
bottom. 


'\V-F.-E!    BOOH-UH  WOOH  !" 


SOME  FOOLISHNESS.  183 

"W-e-e-e-e!    Booh!    Boo,  Boo-uh-wooh!"  she  screamed. 

Then  bolting  for  the  woods  she  did  not  stop  before  reach- 
ing a  spot  fifty  yards  away,  under  a  big  hickory  tree. 

The  boys  lay  along  the  top  of  the  fence,  beating  them- 
selves, and  nearly  choking  with  wicked  laughter.  They  could 
catch  glimpses  of  the  old  vandal  out  in  the  brush,  where  with 
nose  pointed  at  the  ground,  and  the  button  on  it  working  furi- 
ously, she  would  occasionally  plow  up  the  loam  and  dead  leaves, 
saying  "rooough!"  which  was  doubtless  some  suicidal  resolve, 
or  swear-word  in  hog  language. 

When  the  slop  had  cooled  so  as  to  be  eatable,  the  boys 
called  the  other  hogs  that  were  taking  a  siesta  down  at  the 
branch;  upon  hearing  the  well-known  signal  they  came  up  the 
fence  in  a  long  grunting  file.  In  a  short  time  Ration  heard 
them  eating  and  issued  from  her  retirement,  full  of  wrath,  and 
was  soon  digging  her  companions  in  the  ribs,  fully  revenging 
herself  for  the  great  disappointment. 

After  laughing  until  it  didn't  feel  good  any  more,  the  boys 
called  Coon  and  started  on  an  aimless  tramp  towards  the  branch. 
When  about  half-way  there,  they  saw  the  dog  who  as  usual  was 
trotting  on  ahead,  suddenly  jump  a  yard  high,  and  upon  com- 
ing down  disappear  like  a  black  streak  into  the  bushes.  They 
found  her  by  a  huge  rotten  log,  under  which  she  was  digging 
furiously.  Such  unusual  actions  led  the  boys  to  fancy  that  she 
must  have  chased  some  new  kind  of  game,  and  they  gave  her 
every  encouragement,  even  trying  to  overturn  the  log. 

Presently  Coon,  who  was  already  half  buried  in  the  hole 
she  was  digging  uttered  a  smothered  yelp,  backed  out  with  a 


1 84  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

hurried  scramble  and  brought  with  her  a  big,  pied  chicken- 
snake,  fully  six  feet  long.  As  it  came  free  of  the  log  Coon  gave 
it  a  flirt,  and  when  it  struck  the  ground  she  sprang  after  it, 
snapped  gingerly  a  few  times,  finally  snatching  it  by  the  middle 
and  shaking  it  so  fast  it  cracked  like  a  whip.  So  rapidly  did 
her  head  jerk  that  the  excited  boys  could  hardly  see  it,  and 
they  whooped  with  all  their  lungs  in  hearty  applause. 

When  Coon  dropped  the  reptile,  there  was  no  deader  snake 
imaginable,  and  her  proud  owners  added  another  lustrous  item 
to  the  already  long  list  of  her  virtues. 

Tying  a  piece  of  stout  string  about  the  snake's  neck,  they 
took  it  back  to  the  house  to  show  their  mother,  and  give  her 
a  glowing  account  of  Coon's  prowess  in  capturing  it.  Mrs. 
Flint  told  them  what  kind  of  a  serpent  it  was,  relating  at  the 
same  time  an  experience  of  her  own  with  a  similar  reptile. 
Then  she  told  them  to  carry  it  away,  and  throw  it  upon  some 
brush-heap,  so  that  they  would  never  by  any  chance  get  its  bones 
or  teeth  in  their  bare  feet. 

They  sauntered  out  to  the  barn  lot,  and  happened  to  meet 
Shikespoke  on  the  way.  He  had  been  on  a  foraging  expedi- 
tion at  the  stable.  When  he  saw  the  snake  his  hair  rose,  and 
with  a  spit  he  scaled  the  fence,  going  in  long  leaps  to  the 
kitchen.  The  boys  laughed  at  his  antics,  and  then  sat  down 
on  a  big  stump  to  give  the  snake  a  more  thorough  examination. 
Upon  pulling  its  mouth  open  with  sticks  they  were  greatly  sur- 
prised not  to  find  any  dangerous  teeth.  It  had  been  their  be- 
lief that  all  serpents  had  fangs,  and  the  absence  of  these  weap- 
ons in  the  present  specimen  was  very  puzzling.  William  finally 


SOME  FOOLISHNESS.  185 

suggested  that  Coon  must  have  shaken  them  out.     In  a  short 

time  he  asked  Nathan: 

"Whacher  reckon  made  Shike  act  so  when  he  seen  it?" 
While  attending  school  in  Hightown  William  had  begun 

0 

the  study  of  English  grammar;  but  up  to  this  time  he  had  no 
idea  that  it  should  affect  his  talk  on  a  wood's  farm.  He  thought 
the  study  specially  designed  to  embellish  Sunday-school  speeches 
and  catechisms. 

"He  wuz  skeered,  I  guess,"  replied  Nathan  briefly. 

"My!  Whacher  suppose  he  would  do  if  it  was  tied 
to  him?"  asked  William,  as  he  dangled  the  snake  by  its 
string. 

No  sooner  was  this  outlandish  suggestion  conceived  than 
it  was  tried.  Nathan  went  promptly  to  the  kitchen,  and  found 
Shikespoke  curled  snugly  in  a  basket  of  carpet-rags  in  a  cor- 
ner. Picking  him  up,  and  covering  his  eyes  with  one  hand,  he 
went  back  to  the  lot.  Then,  while  William  held  Shike's  head 
under  his  arm,  Nathan  made  a  slip-noose  in  the  end  of  the 
string,  put  the  animal's  tail  more  than  halfway  through  it  and 
drew  the  loop  tight.  Shike  winced  and  uttered  a  smothered 
"maow"  as  the  cord  pinched  him,  and  then  William  let  him 
go.  He  sneezed,  winked  his  eyes  lazily,  and  started  for  the 
house  again. 

When  the  string  pulled  taut,  he  looked  around  and  sud- 
denly saw  the  strange  appendage  to  his  tail  within  two  feet  of 
him,  and  on  the  move.  In  a  second  his  eyes  became  big  as 
half-dollars;  every  hair  of  his  body  stood  on  end,  and  he  fairly 
swelled  with  excitement  and  terror. 


1 86 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


'K-H-H-H!    WEOW!" 


"K-h-h-h-h!  Woww!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  spit  and  howl, 
springing  forward  as  if  shot  from  a  gun. 

But  this   abrupt  motion  jerked   the  snake   all  over  him, 

and  turned  him  silly  in  a  trice.  He 
sprang  five  feet  into  the  air  and 
looked  down  in  time  to  see  the  snake 
rising  after  him,  at  which  he 
yowled  in  frenzy,  spitting  so 
hard  it  seemed  that  he  might 
loosen  his  lungs.  Coming  down 
squarely  on  the  snake,  he  next 
described  a  fine  curve  some  ten 
feet  in  length,  and  went  raving  insane  to  find  the  serpent  hang- 
ing over  his  back  as  he  struck  the  ground. 

Then  he  tried  to  flee  away  and  leave  the  enemy.  Skip- 
ping over  the  rail-fence  into  the  corn-field,  he  started  up  be- 
tween two  rows  at  railroad  speed.  With  every  jump  he  made 
the  snake  lapped  around  a  cornstalk,  or  jerked  forward,  piling 
all  over  him  in  a  life-like  fashion  that  kept  him  going  and 
spitting  like  a  steam  engine.  Reaching  the  further  side  of  the 
field,  he  mounted  the  fence  to  rest;  but  turning  around  to  see 
how  far  he  had  got,  he  perceived  the  horrible  burden  of  his 
tail  about  two-thirds  of  the  way  up,  and  right  under  him, 
swinging  back  and  forth  as  if  seeking  a  place  to  crawl  along 
side  him. 

Suddenly  Shikespoke  felt  completely  rested;  the  place  was 
in  the  hot  sun,  anyway,  and  there  came  to  his  mind  a  good  cool 
place  under  the  house.  He  started  to  pre-empt  it,  going  about 


"Yah  Here!     Yowl    Scat  I' 


14 


SOME  FOOLISHNESS.  187 

fifteen  feet  the  first  jump.  Just  as  he  struck  the  ground  he 
was  rendered  explosive  by  the  snake's  winding  around  his  neck, 
and  sliding  off  right  in  front  of  him.  He  struck  at  it  with 
one  paw,  peeling  a  flake  of  skin  from  its  now  bruised  body; 
then  springing  clear  over  it,  panting  and  dizzy,  he  started 
anew  for  the  house.  What  he  was  going  after  had  entirely  been 
forgotten^but  there  was  no  stopping  for  that  reason;  he  was 
consumed  with  a  raging  desire  to  go  somewhere. 

Swish,  slap,  snap,  crack,  went  the  snake  among  the  corn- 
stalks, and  the  watching  boys  were  apprised  that  Shike  was 
coming  home.  On  he  came,  clambered  up  a  fence-stake, 
jumped  into  the  garden,  staggered  through  the  paling  gate  into 
the  yard  and  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

Suddenly  the  wicked  boys  were  almost  paralyzed  by  a  se- 
ries of  shouts  and  snorts  from  the  Apostle. 

"Yah-h-here!  Yow!  'Scat!  Git  out!  Good  fathers  above! 
What  on  earth!!!" 

The  boys  ran  to  the  front  yard,  and  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  appeared  Shike,  eyes  green,  and  panting  mouth  wide 
open.  Running  for  a  tree  near  the  gate,  the  poor  creature  strug- 
gled up  it  as  long  as  he  could  wiggle  a  paw,  reached  a  fork 
twelve  feet  from  the  ground  and  threw  himself  into  it,  as  nearly 
exhausted  as  a  cat  ever  was. 

The  Parson  had  been  meditating  in  the  shade  after  his 
usual  fashion;  but  at  last  becoming  unusually  drowsy,  he  had 
grown  tired  of  holding  his  book;  so  laying  his  chair  forward 
for  a  head  rest,  he  had  stretched  himself  out  upon  the  grass, 
bracing  his  feet  against  a  small  tree  that  grew  against  the  gar- 


1 88  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

den-fence.  Iti  this  prone  situation  he  completely  blocked  Shike's 
passage,  and  the  cat,  now  hardly  able  to  keep  its  feet,  jumped 
feebly  over  him  and  dragged  the  snake  across  his  hands  which 
were  folded  upon  his  stomach. 

Thus  rudely  awakened,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a 
yell.  Perhaps  a  suspicion  flashed  across  his  mind  that  the 
arch  enemy  of  mankind  had  once  more  appeared  in  original 
form.  But  a  second  or  two  sufficed  to  inform  him  what  was 
the  matter,  and  he  strode  indignantly  around  to  the  front  yard. 
Here  he  found  the  boys,  now  very  remorseful  at  Shike's  pre- 
dicament, standing  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  trying  to  coax  the 
poor  cat  down ;  but  the  victim  stared  at  them  with  wide  eyes 
and  pulsating  sides,  too  much  scared  and  worn  out  to  move. 

The  Parson  said  with  a  steely  rasp: 

"Why  ain't  ye  always  a-tormentin'  something!  Ye  act  as 
if  Satan  himself  possessed  ye!  I'm  a  notion  to  frail  ye  till  ye 
hides  won't  hold  shucks!" 

Then  as  this  awful  threat  died  away  on  the  hot  air,  he 
added,  "You  pore  triflin'  creatures!  If  you  don't  sup  sorrow 
before  you  die,  I  miss  my  guess!" 

The  situation  was  dreadfully  strained  and  embarrassing; 
but  as  the  threatener  did  not  at  once  proceed  to  carry  out  his 
"notion"  about  "frailing"  them,  Nathan  took  out  his  knife  and 
began  to  shin  up  the  tree  to  cut  the  string  and  free  poor  Shike 
from  his  dread  pursuer.  He  had  just  time  to  sever  the  cord 
when  the  cat,  imagining  that  his  enemy  had  revived,  scram- 
bled to  the  very  top  of  the  tree,  where  he  remained  in  security 
until  nightfall. 


SOME  FOOLISHNESS,  189 

The  boys  did  not  feel  at  all  easy  under  the  Parson's  lurid 
eyes,  and  would  at  once  have  sneaked  away  had  he  not  halted 
them  with  the  words,  still  raspy  and  rebuking: 

"See  if  ye  can  go  an'  ask  yer  mother  fer  some  grease;  then 
git  and  grease  the  buggy,  and  do  you  let  that  be  the  very  last!" 

The  boys  hurried  away,  breathing  easier. 

Now  that  all  danger  was  past  and  Shikespoke  once  more 
safe,  they  began  to  remember  the  funny  parts  of  the  episode, 
and  occasionally  gave  vent  to  bursts  of  smothered  laughter. 
Hunting  up  the  wrench  and  a  piece  of  board  to  hold  the  axle 
while  the  wheel  was  removed,  they  rolled  the  buggy  from  its 
shed  and  set  about  business. 

Pe-coob-coob  was  standing  under  his  favorite  sapling, 
looking  as  solemn  as  possible,  and  occasionally  rubbing  flies 
off  his  front  legs  with  his  long  jaw.  Ump-Ump  was  lying  in 
a  corner  of  the  lot  dreaming,  with  his  nose  almost  on  the  ground. 
But  at  the  noise  of  the  falling  shafts,  as  the  boys  rolled  the 
buggy  out,  the  sleeper  awoke.  Slowly  getting  up  he  twisted 
his  tail  round  and  humped  his  spine  in  a  yawn,  shaking  first 
his  immense  ears  until  they  flapped,  and  then  extending  the 
exercise  to  his  dusty  body.  Sauntering  indolently  toward  the 
boys,  he  stopped  about  ten  feet  off  to  inspect  their  labors.  Here 
he  cast  his  long  ears  forward  to  shade  his  eyes,  and  appeared 
to  wonder  in  a  lazy  sort  of  fashion  what  they  were  doing. 

By  this  time  Nathan  had  taken  off  a  hind  wheel,  which 
he  stood  holding  while  William  applied  grease  to  the  axle. 
Noticing  the  donkey  looking  on  so  near  by,  Nathan  clucked 
to  his  brother,  and  then  with  a  quick  jerk  rolled  the  wheel  at 


I9o  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

the  wondering  animal.  As  he  saw  the  odd-looking  thing  ap- 
proaching, Ump-Ump  gave  a  start  of"  surprise;  then  whirling 
suddenly,  he  spread  his  ear-canvas  to  the  breeze  and  sailed 
mincingly  away,  looking  from  side  to  side  over  his  shoulders 
as  he  went. 

By  some  strange  chance  the  wheel  followed  directly  in  his 
wake;  he  took  fright  and  broke  into  a  gallop  down  the  lot,  but 
when  very  near  him  the  wheel  grazed  a  tree,  and  after  wob- 
bling a  few  yards  further  fell  round  and  round,  like  a  copper 
flipped  upon  a  table.  This  strange  phenomenon  completely 
overthrew  Ump-Ump's  presence  of  mind;  he  flew  toward  the 
gate,  and  finding  it  shut,  jumped  at  a  wide  crack  between  the 
top  fence-rail  and  the  rider,  piling  over  in  the  road  outside  in 
a  confused  heap. 

Jumping  up,  covered  head  and  ears  with  dust,  he  stuck 
his  tail  straight  out  behind  and  started  for  the  woods,  scream- 
ing at  the  top  of  his  voice: 

"Yaww-w-ee-aw-ee-aww-ee," — just  as  the  Parson  on  his 
way  to  the  lot  appeared  at  the  front  gate. 

The  comical  sight  was  too  much  even  for  his  stoicism;  he 
snorted  with  half-suppressed  laughter.  The  boys  saw  it  and 
yelled  aloud,  slapping  their  sides  in  convulsions  of  mirth. 
Even  old  Pe-coob-coob  seemed  to  smile  as  he  raised  his  long 
head  and  twitched  the  corner  of  his  lip. 

As  usual  the  Parson's  mirth  was  short-lived;  and  in  atone- 
ment for  it  he  remarked  with  grim  severity: 

"At  it  ag'in,   air  ye!" 

But  he  was  at  a  disadvantage  this  time.     He  had  already 


SOME  FOOLISHNESS.  191 

laughed,  and  William  made  him  grin  besides,  by  sticking  his 
arm  straight  out  behind  for  a  tail,  and  racing  across  the  lot 
with  a  bawl,  like  the  fleeing  donkey. 

The  buggy  being  greased,  Daniel  was  hitched  to  it,  and 
the  Parson  prepared  to  go  away  to  a  distant  appointment.  That 
the  boys  might  be  prevented  from  any  further  outrages  he  said 
to  them  with  a  warning  note  in  his  voice: 

"I  want  ye  to  git  yer  hoes  and  go  to  diggin'  them  pota- 
ters," — pointing  to  a  patch  near  the  lot.  "They  're  to  be  tuck 
to  market  next  week.  As  fast  as  ye  git  'em  dug,  pile  'em  under 
that  tree  in  the  yard,  where  the  sun  won't  burn  'em;  I  want  to 
find  'em  all  there  when  I  git  back.  Ye  'd  better  remember  like- 
wise that  if  I  hear  of  any  more  of  yer  shines,  the  way  I  '11  warm 
yer  back  '11  be  some!" 

With  this  comforting  assurance  he  went  into  the  house, 
got  his  saddle-bags,  and  without  a  further  word  to  anyone— 
not  even  to  his  faithful  wife,  who  was  suffocating  over  the  hot 
stove — drove  away. 


r  ?ll»i 

#k& 


WEST  HUNTING. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


MORE  FOOLISHNESS. 

AFTER  their  numerous  esca- 
pades the  Parson  often  told  the 
boys  that  their  "hearts  were  as 
prone  to  evil  as  the  sparks  are  to  fly  upwards;"  not  being  very 
skillful  theologians,  and  nearly  always  having  guilty  con- 
sciences, they  supposed  this  diagnosis  must  be  true. 

The  fact  is,  they  often  seemed  to  find  even  in  the  most 
innocent  appearing  things  unheard  of  suggestions  of  mis- 
chief, which  were  always  followed  out  with  calamitous  results. 
But  when  the  fruits  of  their  evil  doings  and  thoughtless  pranks 
became  apparent,  the  culprits  were  always  surprised,  and  would 
protest  the  most  utter  innocence  of  intention  if  called  to  account. 
Yet,  alas!  When  the  Pastor  had  "settled"  with  them  for  one 

192 


MORE  FOOLISHNESS.  193 

misdemeanor,  it  was  their  misfortune  the  next  hour  to  get  into 
some  other  scrape,  worse  if  possible  than  the  former.  The  per- 
sistent bent  to  "evil"  much  vexed  the  Parson,  and  caused  him 
to  groan  in  spirit. 

When  he  drove  away  to  a  two-days'  meeting,  and  disap- 
peared down  the  winding  forest  road,  it  lacked  about  three 
hours  until  sunset;  so  the  boys  took  their  gun,  with  which  Na- 
than had  become  quite  expert,  and  set  off  on  a  hunting  expe- 
dition. 

Roasting  ears  had  long  been  tempting  the  squirrels,  and 
these  frisky  thieves  were  already  making  great  havoc  in  the 
rows  of  corn  next  to  the  field  fence.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
hunters  returned  with  a  half-dozen  fine  fat  specimens,  and  se- 
cured their  mother's  promise  to  make  them  a  pot-pie  next  day. 
Then  being  too  tired  to  dig  any  potatoes  that  evening  they 
strolled  out  to  the  barn-lot  and  caught  horse-flies  off  Pe- 
coob-coob,  tying  feathers  to  them  with  a  fine  thread,  in 
order  to  trace  the  flight  of  the  insects  when  they  were  turned 
loose. 

While  thus  experimenting  they  saw  "Crank"  and  "Co- 
hoke"  come  together  in  one  of  their  ferocious  encounters,  and 
for  the  space  of  a  minute  the  feathers  flew.  Then,  as  usual,  the 
gander  came  off  victorious,  with  a  mouth  full  of  plumes.  He 
flapped  his  broad  wings  and  stalked  screaming  about,  while 
"Co-hoke"  flew  upon  the  fence  and  began  to  crow  lustily,  like 
some  coward  that  seeks  safety  before  he  boasts.  His  disgrace- 
ful conduct  quite  disgusted  the  boys,  and  they  forthwith  planned 
to  teach  him  a  good  lesson. 


i94  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

That  night  when  all  the  fowls  were  quietly  roosting,  the 
conspirators  went  out  to  the  poultry  yard  and  caught  the  gan- 
der. He  was  squatting  on  the  ground  as  near  as  possible  to 
the  spot  where  the  rooster  \vould  fly  down  from  his  perch  next 
morning.  The  snickering  boys  placed  him  on  a  broad  shelf 
close  beside  his  enemy,  and  tied  the  t\vo  gladiators  together 
by  their  legs  with  a  stout  piece  of  cord.  This  began  to  seem 
so  funny  that  they  added  two  or  three  old  fighters  among  the 
hens  to  the  group,  and  then  sneaked  away  to  bed,  indulging 
in  subdued  laughter  and  sundry  speculations  as  to  what  would 
happen  on  the  morrow. 

About  daybreak  Co-hoke's  loud  crowing  awakened  them 
and  they  crept  to  a  window  to  see  what  might  come  to  pass. 
As  it  grew  lighter  they  heard  the  rooster's  usual  note  of  sur- 
prise: 

"Co-hoke-co-hoke,  co-hoky !" 

In  a  minute  or  two  more  he  uttered  a  loud  squawk  and 
flew  down  off  the  perch,  jerking  three  much  astonished  hens 
with  him.  Their  combined  weight  dislodged  the  gander,  and 
he  followed  them,  hitting  the  ground  with  a  thump.  Crank 
was  bewildered;  but  presently  recovering  his  wits  he  pitched 
into  Co-hoke  with  a  screech  of  rage.  After  two  or  three  feints 
at  fighting,  the  rooster  wanted  to  go  away;  but  he  had  not 
gone  three  feet  before  he  brought  up  at  the  end  of  his  tether, 
and  Crank  went  at  him  again. 

Then  the  old  hens  wanted  to  go  to  breakfast,  probably  to 
hunt  an  early  worm:  but  they  too  had  limits.  For  the  next 
few  minutes  there  was  a  perfect  tempest  of  wings,  legs,  necks, 


MORE  FOOLISHNESS.  195 

feathers,  squawks  and  screams  that  probably  had  not  been  heard 
since  the  time  of  Noah's  ark. 

Prominent  in  the  entire  fray  was  the  gander,  plucking 
feathers  first  from  the  rooster,  and  then  from  a  hen,  each  time 
spitting  out  the  mouthful  he  had  got  and  going  after  more, 
while  his  powerful  wings  kept  flapping  and  knocking  his  vic- 
tims in  every  direction. 

At  last  Co-hoke  gave  up  in  despair,  and  lay  upon  his  side 
while  Crank  walked  up  and  down  his  anatomy  screaming 
victoriously.  The  defeated  rooster  croaked  a  dismal  minor, 
while  the  scandalized  hens  lay  scattered  about  as  audience. 

At  this  interesting  juncture  the  snorting  boys  saw  their 
mother  issue  from  the  porch  side-door  and  hurry  to  the  rescue. 
They  slipped  back  to  bed,  but  when  called  to  breakfast,  Mrs. 
Flint  soon  made  them  ashamed  of  their  transparent  attempts 
to  play  innocent  She  administered  a  severe  rebuke  which 
actually  hurt  them  more  than  the  Parson's  thrashings  usually 
did. 

Breakfast  finished,  they  went  to  digging  potatoes.  It  was 
not  the  most  delightful  work  imaginable;  for  on  account  of 
wet  weather  some  of  the  tubers  had  begun  to  rot,  and  while 
grabbling  in  the  dirt  the  boys  were  frequently  exasperated  by 
clawing  into  one  that  was  far  gone  in  the  last  stages  of  decay. 
,  William  had  just  unearthed  one  of  the  largest  of  these, 
and  was  gazing  at  it  with  nose  puckered  at  its  unsavory  odor, 
when  he  spied  Shikespoke  sitting  demurely  in  the  shade  on 
the  further  side  of  the  fence.  Shike  had  recovered  from  his 
violent  exercise  of  the  previous  day,  and  was  lazily  making  his 


196  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

morning  toilet.  With  closed  eyes  he  combed  himself  delib- 
erately, all  unconscious  of  danger. 

Just  as  he  raised  his  head  to  begin  dressing  a  new  spot, 
William  launched  the  rotten  potato  at  him,  ten  feet  away;  the 
mushy  thing  struck  him  fairly  on  the  forehead,  bursting  all 
over  him. 

Shike  jumped  a  yard  high  and  spit,  certain  another  serpent 
must  be  after  him,  and  not  being  at  all  reassured  as  he  fled  by 
a  loud  "ha!  ha!"  from  the  wicked  boys.  Making  a  bee-line 
for  the  barn,  his  usual  place  of  refuge,  the  cat  climbed  into 
the  hay-mow,  and  spent  the  next  hour  cleaning  his  coat,  and 
wiping  the  potato  from  his  face  with  a  handy  paw. 

The  boys  resumed  work  and  kept  steadily  at  it  until  noon. 
Then  while  making  heroic  attacks  upon  the  delicious  pot-pie 
their  mother  had  ready  for  them,  they  hear  a  well-known  voice 
at  the  front  gate:  "Yaawww-ee-yaww-ee-yaww-ee-awww!" 

It  was  the  wanderer  returned,  seeming  to  have  forgotten  the 
scare  that  made  him  flee.  Old  Pe-coob-coob  looked  from  the 
barn  door  and  welcomed  the  arrival  with  an  affectionate 
"nicker,"  as  the  boys  turned  him  into  the  lot. 

Steady  work  during  the  afternoon  nearly  completed  the 
job  of  potato  digging,  and  about  an  hour  before  sundown  the 
boys  were  delighted  beyond  measure  to  see  Uncle  Clint  of  hunt- 
ing fame  drive  up,  on  his  way  home  from  Centerville,  where 
he  had  been  visiting.  With  him  were  Wesley  and  Ames,  his 
two  sons,  youtHs  about  the  age  of  the  Parson's  boys,  and  the 
first  young  person  to  visit  the  farm  since  the  family  had  moved 
out  there. 


MORE  FOOLISHNESS. 


Uncle  Clint  greeted  them  with  great  affection,  and  in  an- 
swer to  their  eager  inquiries  as  to  how  long  he  could  stay,  said 
that  he  must  start  for  home  bright  and  early  Monday  morning. 

The  boys  knew  that  unless  they  sneaked 
off  alone  no  playing  would  be  permitted  on 
Sunday;  so  as  soon  as  the  team  was  taken  care 
of    they   began    to    put    in    the    time 
most  diligently.     With  their  cousins 
they  raced  all  over  the  farm,  show- 
ing them  everything  that  was  inter- 
esting and  a  great  deal  that  was  not. 
The  gun  was  examined,  Coon's  mar- 
velous qualities  praised,  and   their 
many  adventures  related.     When  the 
moon  rose  all  four  of  them  began  to 
play  "hi-spy,"  choosing  the  one  who  should 
act  as  hunter  by  repeating  the  old  doggerel 
stanza: 


:'Eery  ory,  ickery  Ann, 

Fillison  fallison,   Ni'klas  John; 
Queevy  quavy,  English  navy, 
Stinklum  stanklum  buck!" 


UNCLE  CLINT. 


With  each  word  the  reciter  would  point  his  finger  at  one 
of  the  four  players,  himself  included;  the  one  reached  when 
the  word  "buck"  came  round  was  proclaimed  "Hi-spier." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  the  voice  of  Uncle  Clinton  called 
them  in  from  their  boisterous  sport  for  family  prayers.  Wil- 
liam was  very  greatly  interested  in  his  uncle's  manner.  It  was 


198  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

such  a  strange  contrast  to  the  Parson's  funereal  methods;  so 
simple;  so  direct  and  tender.  He  did  not  speak  in  a  depress- 
ing orotund,  but  talked  as  if  addressing  someone  whom  he  loved 
and  in  whom  he  exercised  perfect  trust. 

When  the  family  circle  knelt,  William  had  first  squatted 
on  his  feet,  but  becoming  a  little  cramped  by  this  position  about 
the  time  Uncle  Clint  was  closing  his  petition,  he  dropped  over 
on  one  thigh  and  laid  his  head  upon  his  arms  which  were  rest- 
ing upon  the  chair  before  him. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  an  ireful,  crippled  wasp  was 
lying  on  its  back  near  where  he  had  kneeled,  and  for  some  time 
had  been  feebly  reaching  about  in  space  for  a  foot-hold.  As 
William  subsided  on  his  thigh,  a  rent  in  his  trousers'  leg  ex- 
actly included  the  struggling  insect,  which  promptly  harpooned 
him  to  what  he  thought  must  be  an  inch  or  more  in  depth.  He 
forgot  where  he  was  and  what  was  going  on,  putting  up  a  yell 
that  chilled  the  blood  of  the  entire  kneeling  family.  The  prayer 
came  to  an  abrupt  close  and  everyone  asked  at  the  same  time 
what  on  earth  had  happened. 

"Sump'ns  bit  me!"  bawled  William  loudly. 

Hasty  search  quickly  discovered  the  wasp,  and  the  sting 
which  had  been  left  in  the  wound  was  extracted,  after  which 
an  application  of  soda  to  the  swelling  relieved  the  pain. 

When  the  boys  awakened  next  morning  it  was  broad  day, 
and  Uncle  Clinton  had  done  the  feeding.  At  breakfast  he  had 
a  droll  story  to  tell  about  "the  father  of  all  rabbits"  which  he 
had  seen  in  the  lot.  The  narrative  had  proceeded  some  time  be- 
fore William  suddenly  saw  the  joke  and  exclaimed  laughingly: 


MORE  FOOLISHNESS.  199 

"Why,  that 's  our  jassack,  Uncle!" 

There  were  no  Sunday  services  at  the  church,  a  mile  dis- 
tant on  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  and  consequently  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  wear  out  the  long  day.  The  boys  went  up 
stairs  and  talked  over  everything  they  could  think  of.  Uncle 
Clinton  sat  by  the  front  door  reading  the  Bible  for  a  long  time, 
after  which  he  solaced  himself  with  a  copy  of  "The  Christian 
Advocate."  When  this  was  exhausted  he  entertained  the  fam- 
ily with  many  stories  of  his  early,  pioneer  days;  notably  of  the 
glorious  camp-meetings  they  used  to  have.  At  break  of  day 
next  morning  he  drove  away,  taking  with  him  most  of  the  sun- 
shine the  boys  had  enjoyed  for  six  months. 

They  returned  to  the  potato  digging  and  finished  the  job 
before  eleven  o'clock.  Up  to  that  time  the  Parson  had  not  re- 
turned. About  three  in  the  afternoon  while  poking  around  the 
barn-lot,  they  noticed  that  Pe-coob-coob  was  very  dirty,  hav- 
ing been  trying  to  rid  himself  of  the  tormenting  flies  by  rolling 
in  the  dust.  Nathan  fetched  the  curry-comb  and  began  to  re- 
store him  to  his  usual  condition.  The  old  horse  seemed  to  like 
it  very  well  until  his  legs  were  attacked,  and  then  he  showed  a 
decided  preference  for  his  dirt. 

Nathan  finally  rose  up  from  scraping  one  of  his  hocks, 
and  got  a  thump  across  the  nose  from  Pe-coob-coob's  stub  tail. 
Greatly  exasperated  the  urchin  grasped  the  offending  member, 
elevated  it  and  clapped  the  curry-comb  under  it  teeth  out,  let- 
ting the  obstinate  stump  squarely  down  upon  it. 

With  the  first  nip  it  gave  him  Pe-coob-coob  clamped  his 
Stump  hard,  perhaps  on  the  theory  that  some  people  take  hold 


200  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

of  a  thistle;  but  the  reputed  effects  in  this  case  did  not  follow. 
The  harder  that  gripping  stub  pressed,  the  deeper  the  curry- 
comb bit.  Then  the  victim  tried  to  kick  it  out,  and  evidently 
thought  the  higher  he  elevated  his  heels,  the  brighter  prospect 
there  was  of  succeeding. 

Never  since  the  days  of  his  sanguine  youth  had  Pe-coob- 
coob  shown  so  much  agility.  He  stood  on  his  forefeet  and 
delivered  passes  at  the  saplings.  He  kicked  high  and  low, 
long  and  short,  round  and  round,  but  the  bite  on  his  tail  was 
vicious  and  immovable.  <•— 

In  a  pause  for  breath,  he  strove  to  pick  out  the  irritating 
thing  with  his  teeth,  curling  round  like  a  hoop;  but  he  was 
too  short  by  a  foot,  and  failed  to  reach  it.  Then  he  returned 
to  his  kicking,  and  being  impressed  that  he  had  not  reached 
high  enough,  tip-toed  and  stretched  himself  to  the  utmost  limit. 

Attracted  by  the  noise  Ump-Ump  came  from  behind  the 
barn,  gazed  upon  the  performance  with  admiration,  applaud- 
ing it  with  a  long  melodious  bray.  But  Pe-coob-coob  was 
busy,  and  had  no  time  to  listen  to  sounds  of  adulation.  He 
thought  upon  his  latter  end;  yet  his  combined  mental  and  bod- 
ily exertions  failed  somehow  to  rid  him  of  the  gnawing  curry- 
comb. 

In  his  wondrous  gyrations  he  approached  the  barn,  and 
a  new  idea  seemed  to  strike  him;  he  would  back  up  and  rub 
the  cause  of  his  torment  out  of  existence.  No  sooner  thought 
than  done;  and  he  put  his  whole  weight  on  it  at  once. 

Worse  and  worse!  The  thing  took  a  fresh  hold,  and 
Pe-coob-coob  launched  out  a  kick  with  both  hind-feet  that  hit  the 
barn  broadside  with  a  noise  like  thunder.  It  loosened  his  tail- 


IS 


Pe- Coob- Coob  's  Dilemma. 


MORE  FOOLISHNESS. 


I 

201 


grip,  however,  and  the  nipping  curry-comb  flew  out.  He 
trotted  off  to  a  far  corner  of  the  lot,  whirled  round  and  snorted 
forth  his  indignation,  while  the  conscienceless  boys  were  beat- 
ing themselves  and  squealing  with  heartless  laughter.  It  had 
been  a  circus  all  by  itself. 

At  last  Nathan  picked  up  the  curry-comb  and  with  Wil- 
liam sauntered  around  the  corner. of  the  barn.  Then  they  felt 
that  a  special  providence  had  interfered  in  their  behalf;  for 
just  turning  the  last  bend  of  the  road  that  brought  it  into  view 
came  the  old  family  chaise,  and  the  sound  of  the  Apostle's 
cluck  was  heard  in  the  air.  Hastily  putting  away  Pe-coob- 
coob's  toilet  articles  the  startled  urchins  composed  their  flushed 
faces  and  welcomed  the  grim  Parson  with  every  imaginable 
appearance  of  innocence  and  joy. 

Without  saying  a  word  he  drove  up,  looked  to  see  if  the 
potatoes  had  all  been  dug,  and  leaving  the  boys  to  care  for 
Daniel,  went  wearily  into  the  house.  As  he  led  the  horse  into 


the   barn,   William   said   to   Nathan   with   a 
that  lucky?" 

To  which  Nathan  replied  earn- 
estly, "You  jist  bet  it  was!" 

The  Apostle  was  very  tired  and  de- 
pressed from  his  two  days'  labor. 
Doubtless  it  was  a  fortunate  thing  that 
he  had  not  arrived  three  minutes  earlier 
than  he  did,  or  the  last  state  of  those 
boys  might  have  been  worse  than  the 
first! 


caper,    "Was  n't 


"WAS  N'T  THAT  LUCKY?' 


CHAPTER   XVII. 
PE-COOB-COOB  BEATS  HIS  RECORD. 

FOR  two  days  following  his  return  home,  the  Apostle 
did  not  exhibit  much  energy.    In  preaching  he  always 
labored  so  hard  that  his  spirits  were   depressed  and 
his  frame  greatly  relaxed.    He  was  too  sluggish  to  set 
the  boys  at  anything  but  trifling  jobs,  and  they  dawdled  along, 
taking  their  own  time. 

On  Thursday,  however,  the  Parson  was  quite  recovered. 
That  morning  he  put  Daniel  in  the  spring-wagon  and  went  to 
High  town  with  a  load  of  potatoes. 

At  the  time  of  such  trips  Mrs.  Flint  was  in  the  habit  of 
making  out  a  bill  of  goods  needed  in  the  household.  While 
the  Parson  was  writing  it  down  in  his  note-book  Nathan  came 
in  and  asked  him  to  get  some  squirrel-shot,  as  all  the  last  sup- 
ply was  exhausted.  With  his  usual  economy  the  Parson  ob- 
jected. He  told  the  boy  that  the  shot  must  have  been  wasted 
by  loading  too  heavy;  one  shot  would  kill  a  squirrel  if  it  hit 
him  right.  Then  setting  the  youngsters  to  task  he  drove  away. 
However,  when  his  other  purchases  had  been  made  he  re- 
called Nathan's  request.  Not  finding  the  usual  sized  squirrel- 
shot  in  market,  he  purchased  a  pound  of  duck-shot.  The  boys' 
hunting  saved  his  family  much  expense  for  meat. 

202 


PE-COOB-COOB  BEATS  PUS  RECORD.         203 


It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  reached  home;  and  as 
the  marketing  was  inspected  he  handed  the  shot  to  Nathan,  at 
the  same  time  measuring  out  a  proper  load,  which  was  nearly 
a  teaspoonful. 

Among  other  articles  which  had  been  purchased  were 
about  two  pounds  of  honey  in  the  comb;  it  was  for  cough- 
medicine,  being  too  costly  for  table  use.  This  was  placed  on 
the  kitchen  table  over  night,  and  the  next  morning  Mrs.  Flint 
found  quite  a  colony  of  bees  busy  transferring  it  to  their  own 
stores.  She  had  lived  in  the  woods  before,  and  noticing  what 
kind  of  insects  they  were,  called  the  Parson,  Who  immediately 
pronounced  them  'wild  bees,  and  said  there  was  doubtless  a  bee- 
tree  near  by. 

After  breakfast  he  took  some  of  the  honey,  called  the  boys 
and  went  out  into  the  field  to  try  an  experiment.  Down  at 
Puncheon  Camp  he  had  been  an  expert  in  finding  bee-trees, 
and  the  renewed  occupation  reminded  him  pleasantly  of  those 
halcyon  days. 

The  boys  were  deeply  interested.  The  chance  of  getting 
a  bountiful  supply  of  honey  which  they  might  eat  on  mother's 
biscuits  without  its  being  mixed 
with  hoar-hound  and  elecampane 
was  quite  sufficient  to  enlist  them 
very  zealously. 

The  Parson  carried  his  bait 
on  a  chip  which  he  laid  on  top  of 
a  large  stump ;  then  tying  a  bit  of 
pink  cotton  to  a  fine  silk  thread, 


BAITING  THE  BEES. 


204  THE  PERSON'S  BOYS. 

they  all  sat  down  to  wait  events.  Presently  a  wandering  bee 
lit  upon  the  honey;  soon  another  followed,  and  then  another. 
This  the  Parson  explained,  saying  the  bee  tree  must  be  close 
by.  He  then  deliberately  picked  up  one  of  the  busy  insects, 
and  greatly  to  the  admiration  of  the  boys,  did  not  wince  when 
it  prodded  him  with  ready  sting.  With  the  noose  in  the  free 
end  of  the  thread  he  attached  the  cotton  float  to  the  prisoner's 
body,  and  let  it  go,  sucking  his  finger,  which  was  very  hot  de- 
spite his  apparent  stoicism. 

The  released  bee  crawled  slowly  about  in  a  sickly  man- 
ner, braided  its  legs,  and  after  a  few  trial  vibrations  of  its 
wings  took  flight.  It  circled  round  and  round,  the  red  banner 
floating  behind.  After  rising  about  forty  feet  in  the  air  it 
darted  like  a  bullet  over  the  field  toward  the  branch,  while 
the  Parson  watched  it  out  of  sight. 

Then  not  relishing  the  pain  in  his  fore-finger,  he  plucked 
a  plantain  leaf,  and  when  he  saw  a  bee  ready  for  flight,  he  hit 
it  a  slight  tap,  so  entangling  its  legs  in  the  sticky  fluid  as  to 
delay  its  journey.  Directing  Nathan  to  watch  it,  he  quickly 
prepared  another  bit  of  cotton  which  by  adroit  handling  he 
tied  to  the  struggling  insect  without  getting  stung  a  second 
time. 

The  bee  cleaned  the  honey  from  its  legs,  rose  and  disap- 
peared in  the  same  direction  as  the  former  one.  This  satisfied 
the  Parson  of  the  general  locality  of  the  bees'  home;  he  di- 
rected the  boys  to  prepare  a  piece  of  ground  for  turnips  and 
set  out  on  his  hunt.  It  was  nearly  noon  when  he  got  back,  and 
his  pleased  expression  told  that  he  had  been  entirely  successful. 


PE-COOB-COOB  BEATS  HIS  RECORD.         205 

The  bees,  he  said,  occupied  an  oak  tree  nearly  a  mile  dis- 
tant; there  was  a  great  swarm,  and  he  expected  to  secure  a 
large  amount  of  honey.  After  dinner  he  took  two  buckets, 
some  rags  for  a  smudge,  told  William  to  bring  along  the  ax 
and  Nathan  the  gun,  and  they  all  set  off  to  capture  the  prize. 

In  a  short  time  the  three  reached  the  scene  of  operations. 
The  bees  had  taken  possession  of  a  great  oak-tree.  About  fifty 
feet  up  the  side  it  had  a  crevice  that  evidently  led  to  a  hollow 
core.  Out  of  the  dark  opening  a  never-ending  procession  of 
bees  entered  or  emerged,  all  unconscious  of  danger  below. 

The  Parson  set  his  pails  in  a  safe  place,  stripped  off  his 
coat  and  began  to  chop  down  the  tree.  The  job  took  fully 
an  hour,  and  toward  the  last  the  jarring  blows  raised  a  great 
commotion  with  the  swarming  inhabitants ;  they  grew  excited 
and  flew  in  every  direction  except  that  of  the  enemy. 

Finally,  with  a  warning  crack  and  a  loud  crash,  down 
came  the  tree,  its  hollow  top  bursting  open  in  the  fall,  expos- 
ing a  long,  smooth-worn  interior  filled  with  brown  honeycomb. 
Most  of  the  bees  were  stunned  by  the  fall  of  their  home,  and 
the  incomers  flew  wildly  about  in  the  air,  bewildered  at  not 
finding  their  accustomed  entrance. 

The  Parson  set  fire  to  his  bunch  of  rags,  and  in  the  pro- 
tection of  its  smoke,  began  transferring  the  honey  to  his  pails. 
When  both  were  full  there  yet  remained  much  that  was  unfit 
to  eat,  being  mixed  with  dirt  and  trash  from  the  crushed  tree- 
trunk. 

Having  collected  all  that  was  fit  to  use  the  party  started 
back.  William  and  Nathan  walked  ahead,  on  the  lookout  for 


206  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

game.  About  half  way  home  they  were  surprised  by  the  so- 
berly plodding  old  Pe-coob-coob  who,  with  Ump-Ump  in  his 
wake,  had  somehow  escaped  from  the  lot,  and  was  taking  a 
journey  of  which  he  alone  knew  the  object. 

The  horse  stopped,  and  gazed  with  wondering  solemnity 
at  the  returning  bee-hunters.  Nathan  gave  William  the  gun 
and  caught  the  old  rascal  by  the  fore-top  to  lead  him  home. 
But  Pe-coob-coob  would  never  lead  willingly  in  this  fashion; 
so  the  boy  finally  mounted  upon  his  back,  being  accustomed 
to  riding  so,  and  guiding  the  bridleless  horse  by  an  occasional 
box  on  the  jaw. 

When  Nathan  had  mounted,  William  handed  him  the  ax, 
and  set  off  ahead  of  the  Parson,  feeling  very  proud  of  being 
entrusted  with  the  gun.  Pe-coob-coob  and  his  long-eared  fol- 
lower brought  up  in  the  rear  of  the  procession,  halting  from 
time  to  time  as  the  Apostle  paused  to  rest. 

"Keep  yer  eye  skinned,  my  son,"  said  the  Parson  to  Wil- 
liam; "and  keep  the  pint  of  yer  gun  up,  or  fust  ye  know  ye  '11 
be  blowing  the  top  of  somebody's  head  off." 

"I  'd  like  to  see  a  buck  or  a  jagger,"  remarked  William 
with  grim  earnestness  as  he  elevated  the  muzzle  of  the  weapon. 

"Yes,  or  a  hoot-owl,"  chuckled  the  Parson,  "I  reckon  ye  'd 
just  teck  and  tear  the  gable  end  off'n  it!" 

He  felt  unusually  facetious,  and  was  inclined  to  joke  Wil- 
liam about  his  scare  during  the  first  night  on  the  farm.  But 
his  load  of  honey  became  tiresome,  and  presently  he  paused 
for  a  breathing  spell  while  William  marched  on  by  himself. 
He  had  gone  perhaps  two  hundred  yards  ahead  when  suddenly 


PE-COOB-COOB  BEATS  HIS  RECORD.         207 


jerking  the  gun  from  his  shoulder  he  began  to  prance  wildly 
about  and  yell  for  the  Parson  to  come.  It  was  evident  that  he 
had  found  something  of  a  promising  nature,  so  the  Apostle 
picked  up  his  burden  and  responded  to  the  call  very  promptly. 

The  boy  had  treed  a  fox-squirrel;  a  veteran,  as  wary  as 
he  was  nimble.  For  some  time  nobody  could  get  sight  of  it, 
but  William  insisted  that  it  was  in  the  tree  somewhere,  for 
he  had  "seen  it  jist  a  rackin'  up  the  side." 

At  last,  far  up  in  the  main  fork  of  the  tree  the  fur  on 
the  tip  of  the  creature's  tail  was  discernible;  it  had  flattened 
out  its  body  on  a  huge  limb,  and  lay  perfectly  quiet.  The  Par- 
son walked  all  about  the  tree  to  find  an  open 
place  in  the  undergrowth  from  which  to  take  a 
shot;  but  as  he  moved  the  watchful  squirrel  slid 
from  one  side  of  the  fork  to  the  other,  always 
keeping  out  of  sight. 

There    was    but 
one  spot  from  which 
the  fork  was  plainly 
visible;  it  was  on  the 
side  of  the  tree  op- 
posite   the    road. 
Here  about  half  the 
squirrel's    body   was 
visible,  and  the  Par- 
son  called   for 
the  gun.    Wil- 
liam took  it  to 


208  THE  PARSON'S  3OYS. 

him,  but  made  so  much  noise  in  pushing  through  the  bushes 
that  the  wily  victim  again  hid  itself,  showing  but  a  mere  fringe 
of  hair  on  the  root  of  its  tail. 

"Ye  remind  me  of  a  bull  in  a  chiny  shop,"  said  the  irri- 
tated Parson.  "Why  do  n't  ye  make  noise  enough  to  wake  the 
dead!  Gimme  the  gun,  an'  see  if  ye  kin  stand  still  a  minit!" 

UO  pa!"  pleaded  William;  "lemme  shoot  this  one!  I  treed 
him,  and  I  never  shot  one  yet!" 

"Humph!"  said  the  Parson  irresolutely.  "Ye 'd  likely 
blow  the  top  of  yer  head  off.  I  do  n't  think  ye  could  hit  the 
side  of  a  barn;  an'  besides  ye  can't  hold  the  gun  off-hand." 

"Yes  I  could  hit  the  side  of  a  barn  too!"  exclaimed  Wil- 
liam indignantly.  "I  never  git  a  chanst  to  hit  anything;  an' 
how  '11  I  ever  learn  if  I  do  n't  try?  I  '11  rest  the  gun  ag'in  the 
side  of  a  saplin';  Nathan  does  that  sometimes." 

The  Parson  always  had  a  myriad  of  excuses  when  he 
wished  to  prevent  the  boys  from  doing  anything;  but  this  grieved 
protest  from  William  rather  touched  his  heart. 

"Well,  we  '11  see  now,"  he  said.  "Come  here  and  lemme 
show  you  where  the  animile  is  hid." 

As  William  eagerly  approached,  the  Apostle  sighted 
along  the  side  of  a  small  hickory  sapling,  and  found  that 
if  it  were  on  their  side  the  limb,  the  squirrel  would  be  in 
plain  sight. 

"D  'ye  see  that  big  fork  up  there?"  he  asked. 

"Uh  huh,"  responded  William,  gazing. 

"Well,  d'ye  see  down  nearly  to  the  crotch,  what  looks  like 
a  little  smiggin  of  moss?" 


PE-COOB-COOB  BEATS  HIS  RECORD.         209 

"Uh  huh,"  rejoined  William  again,  squinting  prodigiously, 
his  mouth  wide  open. 

"That's  where  the  critter's  lyin';  now  ye  want  to  squirt- 
a-shooel,  d  'ye  think  ye  kin  hit  him  that  far  off?" 

"I  '11  jist  bet  a  hoss  I  kin,"  said  William  excitedly. 

"How?  How?  How  is  it?"  asked  the  Parson,  pausing 
long  and  looking  daggers  of  rebuke  between  the  questions. 
"Ye  'd  mebby  better  put  up  some  of  yer  small  stock  fust.  What 's 
the  matter  with  yer  hands?" 

"I  got  the  buck-ager,"  said  William  falteringly;  "but  I  '11 
jist  rest  the  gun  on  this  piece  of  limb," — pointing  to  a  rotten 
snag  on  one  side  of  the  sapling, — "an'  then  I  kin  hold  it  stiddy." 

Saying  this  he  laid  the  gun-barrel  upon  the  support  and 
found  to  his  great  satisfaction  that  he  could  get  an  excellent 
bead  on  the  spot  where  the  crouching  squirrel  lay. 

"I  can't  shoot  it  through  that  limb,"  he  remarked,  taking 
a  trial  squint  along  the  sights.  "You  ride  up  a  little  furder. 
Nathan,  and  skeer  him  over  this  way." 

Astride  of  Pe-coob-coob,  Nathan  had  himself  been  try- 
ing to  locate  the  squirrel.  When  William  called  to  him,  he 
urged  the  horse  forward  a  few  paces,  and  stopped  in  the  road. 
Here  he  was  hidden  from  his  brother  behind  the  tree,  but  Pe- 
coob-coob's  head  and  rear  were  in  plain  view.  Reaching  up 
to  an  over-hanging  bough,  Nathan  shook  it  and  shouted;  the 
victim  crept  quickly  over  the  limb  until  most  of  its  body  was 
visible  to  William. 

Just  here  Ump-Ump,  who  had  been  standing  about  ten 
yards  behind  the  old  horse,  wondering  at  the  strange  move- 


210  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

ments  around  him,  began  to  feel  very  funny.  Giving  his  tail 
two  or  three  coquettish  twists,  he  threw  back  his  ears  and 
minced  up  to  Pe-coob-coob,  where  he  stopped  to  nip  the  old 
fellow's  tail  that,  as  usual,  was  waving  listlessly  up  and  down. 
The  sedate  animal  laid  back  his  ears  and  raised  one  foot  as 
if  to  kick  the  frivolous  donkey,  but  at  that  moment  the  Par- 
son called  aloud  to  Nathan: 

/ 

"Hold;  he  's  fur  enough  this  way  now." 

Attracted  by  his  voice  the  jack  suspended  his  amusement 
and  gazed  indolently  at  William.  That  over-strung  youth 
tightened  all  his  muscles,  took  a  long  sight,  held  his  breath, 
closed  his  eyes  and  exclaimed: 

"Look  out!     I'm  a-goin'  to  shoot!" 

The  next  second  a  variety  of  startling  things  happened. 
In  the  first  place  William's  muscular  contraction  added  to  the 
weight  of  the  gun  was  more  than  the  rotten  snag  could  stand, 
and  just  as  the  urchin's  finger  was  about  to  press  the  trigger, 
the  support  snapped  off,  letting  the  gun-barrel  drop.  It  fell 
in  a  direct  line  with  Pe-coob-coob's  tail  and  the  donkey's  head, 
exploding  with  a  loud  bang. 

As  it  did  so  William  slightly  relaxed  his  grip,  and  the 
weapon  kicked  viciously.  The  poor  boy  staggered  back,  think- 
ing one  whole  side  of  his  head  had  been  crushed  in.  He  dropped 
the  fire-arm,  clapped  both  hands  to  his  aching  jaw  and  roared 
with  pain.  But  the  next  second  he  had  reason  to  forget  his 
own  condition;  for,  as  the  explosion  occurred,  Pe-coob-coob 
uttered  a  loud  grunt  and  angry  snort.  Immediately  followed 
frightened  shouts  from  Nathan. 


PE-COOB-COOB' BEATS  HIS  RECORD.         211 

"Whoa !    Whoa !    Whoa  there,  you  old  fool !    Whoa  there !" 

Through  the  thinning  smoke  could  be  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  old  horse,  flying  at  top  speed  among  the  trees,  while  Nathan, 
with  fingers  woven  into  his  mane  was  ducking  and  dodging 
to  avoid  limbs  and  saplings  that  threatened  every  moment  to 
knock  out  his  brains. 

At  the  gun-shot  Ump-Ump  dropped  like  a  beef  under  the 
butcher's  ax:  but  he  had  not  more  than  reached  the  ground 
before  he  sprang  up,  looked  wildly  about,  and  catching  sight 
of  his  foster-father's  hind  quarters  flying  in  the  distance,  he 
leapt  out  in  pursuit,  uttering  as  he  flew  a  loud,  prolonged  and 
squealing 

"  Yaaww-eee-aww-ee-awwe-aw-  eawww !" 

"Oh,  pa!"  screamed  William  in  a  frenzy  of  fear,  as  he 
saw  the  speeding  animals  and  heard  Nathan's  terrified  shouts 
dying  away,  "I  Ve  killed  'em!  I  Ve  killed  'em!" 

"Good  fathers  above!"  exclaimed  the  Parson  in  a  state  of 
utter  exasperation  and  disgust  "I  jist  lay  you've  ruined  the 
old  boss,  and  put  out  the  jackass's  eyes.  I  never  did  see  your 
beat  in  my  born  days!  Teck  yerself  out  of  here  and  see  if  ye 
kin  meek  fer  home ;  and  do  n't  you  ever  lay  hands  on  another 
gun  as  long  as  you  live!" 

William  was  nearly  distracted:  he  had  a  double  load  to 
bear.  His  own  bruised  jaw  ached  as  if  every  bone  in  it  were 
mashed,  and  his  mind  was  racked  with  a  sickish  fear  that  he 
had  mortally  wounded,  not  only  old  Pe-coob-coob  and  the 
jack,  but  his  only  brother  as  well.  He  took  his  throbbing  face 
in  both  hands  and  ran  down  the  road,  adding  to  his  anguish 


212 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


by  trying  to  kick  up  a  small  grub  in  the  path  with  one 
of  his  big  toes.  It  was  enough  to  make  him  wish  he  were 
dead. 

In  reality  his  unfortunate  accident  had  only  peppered  old 
Pe-coob-coob's  stub  tail  and  spattered  the  donkey's  head  with 
duck-shot;  but  had  it  been  at  close  quarters,  perhaps  the  result 
might  have  been  more  serious  than  that  of  merely  frightening 
the  unsuspecting  brutes  out  of  their  wits.  Neither  of  them 
liked  the  sound  of  a  gun;  and  when  this  frightening  noise  was 
accompanied  by  burning  pangs  in  head  and  tail,  they  at  once 
felt  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  get  away  from  the  dangerous 
spot,  and  hunt  a  place  of  safety. 

None  of  the  shot  had  touched  Nathan,  as  he  was  sheltered 
behind  the  tree;  but  to  be  run  away  with  through  the  woods 
was  not  a  very  desirable  adventure;  and  it  frightened  the  claw- 
ing rider  quite  as  much  as  the  gun-shot  had  the  bolting  ani- 
mals. 

When  the  episode  occurred,  they  were  not  far  from  the 
branch,  and  Pe-coob-coob  soon  emerged  from  the  trees  into  an 
open  glade  on  the  bank  of  the  stream.     He  did  not  stop,  but 
rose   at    it   like    a    hunter,    clearing   its   eight   feet   at    a 
bound.      But    he    had    not    a    steeple-chaser    for    a 
rider,    and    his    awkward    jump    un- 
seated Nathan,  who  alighted  flat  on 
his    back,    in    about    four    inches    of 
water  and  a  foot  of  mire. 

When    the   gasping  boy  got  his 
breath   he   struggled   to   dry   ground, 

"ROSE   AT    IT    I  IKE    A    Hl'STER." 


PE-COOB-COOB  BE4TS  HIS  RECORD.         213 

looking  as  ludicrous  as  Ration  after  the  Parson's  club  had 
knocked  her  into  a  like  mud-hole. 

Nathan's  face  was  the  only  white  feature  about  him,  his 
hair  and  back  being  a  mass  of  blue  slime.  Panting  and  gulp- 
ing he  started  for  the  road,  reaching  it  a  few  yards  in  advance 
of  William,  who  called  out  in  frantic  distress  and  apprehen- 
sion: 

"Are  ye  killed,  Nathan?    Are  ye  shot  much?" 

When  he  found  out  that  his  shot  had  done  Nathan  no  dam- 
age, William  joined  woeful  figure  with  his  brother,  and  the 
twain  hastened  home.  Nathan  took  a  bath  and  donned  another 
suit  of  clothes.  William  bathed  his  swollen  jaw  in  hot  water 
and  bound  it  up  with  bruised  purslane. 

Presently  the  Parson  arrived,  too  glum  and  disgusted  -for 
comment,  but  he  looked  all  his  tongue  refused  to  speak. 

After  carrying  the  pails  of  honey  into  the  kitchen  he  fol- 
lowed the  boys  out  to  see  what  damage  had  been  done  to  the 
old  horse  and  his  long-eared  retainer. 

A  few  shot  had  entered  the  skin  of  Pe-coob-coob's  hock, 
and  his  sub-tail  felt  quite  lumpy;  but  beyond  this  he  was  not 
hurt. 

Ump-Ump  had  received  the  worse  injury.  The  shot  had 
barely  missed  his  eyes,  but  it  had  paralyzed  one  of  his  eye-lids, 
and  cut  the  tendon  that  held  up  his  right  ear.  Ever  after- 
wards he  went  about  with  his  ear  hanging  straight  out  from 
his  head;  and  he  looked  out  of  his  right  eye  as  if  trying  to 
wink. 

16 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
WINTER  INCIDENTS. 

SUMMER  with  its  varied  experiences  dragged  away,  and 
the  fruits  of  its  wearisome  toil  began  to  appear. 
An  orchard  had  been  set  out,  and  owing  to  the  rich 
new  soil  was  already  in  flourishing  condition,  some  of 
the    larger    trees    showing   evidences    of    coming    fruit.      The 
clearing  had  been  extended,  and  though  thickly  hampered  with 
stumps,   it  was   also   full   of   splendid   rows   of   corn.     Great 
golden  pumpkins  nestled  in  the  bottom  land,  through  which 
the  branch  flowed   and  squashes  of   immense  size  kept  them 
company. 

The  Parson  prepared  half  a  dozen  "sass-holes"  about  the 
garden,  in  which  were  stored  plentiful  supplies  of  cabbage, 
beets,  turnips,  potatoes  and  other  vegetables.  Besides  this,  much 
of  the  crop  was  hauled  to  town  and  traded  for  groceries  need- 
ful for  family  use. 

All  these  unusual  stores  gave  great  delight  to  the  boys, 
and  many  were  their  speculations  about  the  number  of  hogs 
they  would  be  able  to  fatten;  and  how  Pe-coob-coob,  Daniel, 
Ump-Ump  and  other  faithful  servants  of  the  place  would  smile 
and  "nicker"  when  cold  winter  days  came,  and  big  ears  of  corn 
should  gladden  the  hungry  animals. 

214 


WINTER  INCIDENTS.  215 

Coon  had  become  indispensable;  and  when  one  morning 
she  was  missing,  the  boys  became  greatly  concerned.  Search 
was  at  once  begun,  and  soon  she  was  discovered  under  the  crib, 
the  proud  mother  of  six  whining  puppies. 

The  boys  hailed  these  new  arrivals  with  immense  delight. 
They  would  have  kept  the  whole  litter  to  form  a  hunting  pack, 
but  the  Parson  would  not  listen  to  such  a  thing.  Several  neigh- 
bors had  heard  of  Coon's  wonderful  prowess,  and  had  expressed 
wishes  to  possess  a  dog  in  all  respects  like  her;  so  the  boys 
quickly  made  bargains  for  the  disposal  of  the  pups  as  soon  as 
they  were  weaned.  Five  of  them  brought  a  half-dollar  each, 
and  the  sixth,  a  very  lively,  spotted  fellow,  the  boys  kept  be- 
cause they  felt  sure  it  would  break  Coon's  heart  to  be  deprived 
of  all  her  family. 

The  pup  Coon  was  allowed  to  keep  was  named  "Purty- 
eyes,"  because  of  his  queer  visual  organs,  which  were  of  dif- 
ferent color,  and  one  a  trifle  larger  than  the  other.  As  he  grew 
up  the  animal  was  brimful  of  fun,  and  always  in  search  of 
mischief.  This  reckless  spirit  of  his  finally  brought  him  to 
his  death.  One  day  when  he  was  about  five  months  old,  he  set 
out  to  tantalize  old  Pied,  the  cow.  She  lowered  her  head  and 
gave  chase.  Purty-eyes  galloped  toward  the  yard,  barking  and 
looking  back  over  his  shoulder  in  great  glee.  By  a  sudden 
spurt  the  cow  was  almost  upon  him  before  he  was  aware  of  his 
danger.  The  low  paling  gate  was  at  hand,  and  the  now  fright- 
ened pup  made  a  spring  to  clear  it,  but  was  too  far  away.  One 
of  his  hind  legs  caught  between  two  slats  and  was  broken.  Then 
the  Parson  said  he  must  be  killed;  and  though  the  boys  begged 


216  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

hard  for  his  life,  it  was  no  use.     The  Parson  took  him  out  to 
the  edge  of  the  woods  and  shot  him. 

The  grief  of  the  boys  was  loud  and  deep.     They  placed 
the  poor  pup  in  a  box  and  buried  him  underneath 
I/       a  large  tree,  nailing  over  his  grave  a  head-board  with 
the  following  epitaph: 

"PURTY-EYES  FLINT, 
Son  of  Coon  Flint. 

He  was  an  orfand  on  his  father's  side, 
And  died  from  a  cow,  with  a  broken  leg." 


The  school-house  nearest  the  farm  was  about  two  miles 
distant,  on  the  edge  of  the  prairie.  As  time  for  the  winter  ses- 
sion approached,  the  Parson  hastened  his  fall  work  so  as  to 
spare  the  boys.  Next  to  religion  he  prized  education;  the  more 
so,  perhaps,  because  his  own  needs  had  taught  him  its  value. 

The  road  to  the  school-house  lay  mostly  through  the  woods, 
and  just  before  emerging  upon  the  prairie,  it  was  crossed  by 
a  small  creek.  In  case  of  prolonged  rains,  this  insignificant 
stream  was  sometimes  much  swollen,  and  rather  dangerous  to 
ford.  But  when  it  was  higher  than  usual,  Pe-coob-coob  was 
brought  into  use  to  assist  the  boys  and  girls  in  crossing.  At 
such  times  he  was  mounted  by  Louise,  Ruth  and  William,  the 
latter  riding  astride  the  horse's  neck,  just  in  front  of  his  with- 
ers. Nathan  would  walk  to  the  creek,  and  when  the  mounted 
trio  had  ridden  safely  over,  William-  rode  back,  and  carried 
Nathan  to  dry  ground  on  the  further  side. 

On  the  first  day  the  two  boys  went  to  the  school  alone. 


WINTER  INCIDENTS. 


217 


When  they  arrived  the  morning  session  had  already  begun,  so 
the  newcomers  waited  outside  until  recess  before  presenting 
themselves. 

In  a  little  time  an  urchin  about  Nathan's  size  came  out 
of  the  school-house,  and  spying  the  boys  sitting  on  a  log  shook 
his  fist  at  them.  They  were  by  no  means  frightened  at  this 
demonstration,  for  their  own  fighting  qualities  had  not  been 
forgotten. 

The  neighboring  prairie  had  been  settled  by  five  brothers, 
who  owned  the  country  for  several  miles  around.  They  had 
grown  quite  wealthy,  and  were  inclined  to  regard  with  clan- 
nish dislike  any  new  comers  among  them.  Each  had  a  large 
family,  and  some  of  their  children  were  married,  possessing 
homes  of  their  own;  thus  the  entire  district  might  have  been 
called  a  settlement  of  relatives. 

Tobe  Corbin,  one  of  these  country  aristocrats,  after  show- 
ing off  as  we  have  already  described,  came  out  to  where  the 
boys  were  seated  and  asked  in  his  insolent  manner: 

"What 's  yer  name?" 

Now  William's  soul  already  loathed  the  swag- 
gering fellow;  so  he  stood  up  and 
aggravatingly  replied: 

"Puddin'  tame." 

"I  do  n't  'low  no  clod-hoppers 
to  talk  to  me  that-away,"  rejoined 
the  bully  threateningly. 

"Well,   what   'r  ye   goin'   to   do 

about  it?" 

i* 

"WHAT'S  YER  NAME?' 


218  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"See  here,  you  dern  stick-in-the-mud,  you  do  n't  want  to 
gimme  none  of  yer  lip,  ur  I'll  bust  yer  crust!" 

"Oh,  now,"  said  William  mockingly;  "you  wouldn't  hurt 
a  pore  little  boy,  would  ye,  sis?  I  ain't  afeard  of  no  lummix 
like  you.  I  come  friim  town." 

"Well,  if  ye  did  come  f rum  town,  that  won't  keep  me  from 
moppin'  the  ground  with  ye  if  ye  ain't  keerful.  You  act  too 
dern'd  stuck  up." 

"All  we  got  to  say  is  ye  'd  better  try  it  once,"  Nathan 
broke  in.  "You  won't  mop  us  as  anybody  knows  of.  We  '11 
pound  the  soap-suds  out  of  ye,  if  ye  bother  us  anymore." 

Just  at  this  threatening  crisis  recess  occurred.  The  schol- 
ars poured  forth  from  the  school-house  in  a  noisy,  yelling 
crowd,  and  without  further  remarks  Tobe  Corbin  ran  away 
to  join  them. 

Followed  by  many  stares  and  curious  glances  the  boys  then 
went  into  the  house  and  were  assigned  seats.  The  teacher  asked 
them  about  the  Parson;  where  they  had  last  lived,  and  how  far 
they  had  gone  in  their  studies,  all  of  which  the  boys  answered 
very  promptly.  Finally  left  to  themselves  they  strolled  out 
to  the  playgrounds,  and  as  no  one  invited  them  to  join  the 
games,  they  watched  the  others  play.  It  was  not  long,  however, 
before  the  teacher  came  to  the  door  and  beat  upon  the  side  of 
the  house  with  a  stick,  yelling  loudly: 

"Books!     Books!" 

Away  went  the  scholars  pell  mell,  crowding,  jostling,  and 
nearly  wedging  fast  in  the  narrow  entrance.  All  this  seemed 
very  strange  to  the  Parson's  boys;  for  they  had  last  gone  to 


WINTER  INCIDENTS.  219 

school  in  town,  where  affairs  were  conducted  in  a  more  orderly 
manner. 

In  a  short  time  the  youths  made  acquaintances  among  the 
scholars,  and  had  some  fast  friends.  They  did  not  come  to 
an  open  rupture  with  Tobe  Corbin  until  a  month  later;  then 
it  happened  all  at  once. 

There  were  two  little  Quaker  girls  attending  the  school. 
They  lived  in  the  direction  of  the  farm,  and  traveled  the  same 
road  as  the  boys  for  a  mile  on  their  way  home.  The  smaller 
of  these  lassies  was  a  doll-like  midget  with  a  perfect  thicket 
of  brown  curls  and  two  big  gray  eyes  that  were  soft  as  a  dove's. 
Her  name  was  Hester  Leffingwell,  but  among  the  scholars  she 
was  called  "Sis." 

These  sisters  "thee'd  and  thou'd"  each  other  and  the  schol- 
ars, much  to  the  general  amusement  at  first.  One  evening  after 
school,  Tobe  Corbin  became  offended  at  something  Sis  had 
said,  and  followed  down  the  road  to  slap  her.  William  hap- 
pened to  be  near,  and  although  Tobe  was  quite  a  head  taller 
than  he,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  witness  the  cowardly 
attack  without  some  very  withering  remarks  about  "A  great, 
strappin'  two-fisted  hulk  a-slappin'  a  pore  little  girl!"  For  these 
sarcastic  remarks  Tobe  promptly  turned  and  slapped  William. 

In  the  combat  that  followed  instantly  William  would  likely 
have  been  worsted  if  Nathan  had  not  run  up  and  pulled  the 
enemy  off  him.  Then  while  Nathan  pummeled  on  top,  Wil- 
liam put  in  sundry  kicks  at  the  exposed  portions  of  the  bully's 
person,  which  soon  made  him  call  for  quarter,  and  wish  he  had 
let  out  that  job  to  someone  else. 


220  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Up  to  this  time  the  little  Quakers  had  been  very  shy; 
but  this  brave  championship  on  the  part  of  the  boys  quite  won 
their  hearts.  William  walked  with  Sis  that  evening  to  the 
forks  of  the  road,  and  among  other  tender  things  asked  her  if 
she  could  sing: 

"How  tejis  an'  tas'eless  the  hours." 

Not  being  a  Methodist,  she  had  to  deny  that  accomplish- 
ment, but  said  she  should  like  to  hear  it,  and  William  gallantly 
promised  to  sing  it  for  her  next  day. 

When  the  four  had  separated  at  the  road  leading  to  the 
little  Quakers'  home,  William  solemnly  informed  Nathan  that 
he  loved  Sis  Leffingwell  "with  a  holy,  tender  love,"  and  avowed 
that  he  intended  presenting  her  with  a  pair  of  squirrel-skin 
shoe-strings  the  following  day.  Nathan  returned  this  sacred 
confidence  by  telling  William  that  his  own  bosom  had  long 
been  unutterably  full  of  affection  for  a  certain  Amanda  Pugh, 
whom  he  avowed  he  should  marry  when  he  had  sold  "Lop- 
ear." 

By  the  time  the  boys  reached  home  a  heavy  rain  set  in, 
and  continued  with  great  down-pour  most  of  that  night.  The 
next  morning  Louise -and  Ruth  mounted  Pe-coob-coob  and 
piloted  by  the  boys  started  for  school.  Upon  reaching  the  creek 
they  found  it  thirty  feet  wide,  and  over  a  foot  deep,  running 
very  swiftly.  Nathan  lifted  William  by  one  foot,  and  placed 
him  astride  the  horse's  neck,  and  the  animal  stepped  into  the 
water  to  wade  across.  About  the  middle  of  the  stream  Pe-coob- 
coob  suddenly  felt  thirsty,  and  stopped  to  take  a  drink. 

William  was  entirely  unprepared  for  this  movement,  and 


"Asked  her  if  she  could  sing 
'How  te'jis  an'  tas'eless  the  hours?' 


WINTER  INCIDENTS. 


221 


as  the  horse  abruptly  lowered  his  head,  the  boy  pitched  for- 
ward. However,  he  managed  to  clasp  his  arms  about  the 
horse's  neck,  and  held  on  for  dear  life;  Louise,  who  sat  just 
behind  him  on  the  Parson's  saddle,  seized  one  of  the  feet  that 
William  waved  frantically  in  the  air,  and  tried  to  urge  the 
scoundrelly  Pe-coob-coob  to  move  on;  but  not  a  peg  would  he 
go  until  he  had  secured  a  drink.  William's  position  was  be- 
coming desperate;  he  snatched  one  of  the  horse's  ears  between 
his  teeth,  and  bit  like  a  rat.  Under  this  new  mode  of  persua- 
sion Pe-coob-coob  jerked  up  his  head,  and  William  tried  to 
crawl  back;  but  no  sooner  had  he  got  into  place  than  the  old 
rascal  stooped  again  for  his  coveted  drink. 

This  time  William  shot  right  down  over  the  horse's  ears, 
and  when  he  was  about  half-way  over,  the  animal  again  jerked 
up  his  head.  Having  now  neither  hold  nor  support  William 
lost  his  balance,  and  the  next  second  alighted  smack  on  his  back 
in  the  muddy  creek. 

Snorting  and  bawling  he  scrambled  to  the  bank,  where  he 
stood  as  if  each  of  his  arms  weighed  a  hundred  pounds, 
and  he  were  trying  to  present  them  to  somebody. 

Seeing  him  safe,  the  girls  burst  into  peals  of  laughter; 
but  there  was  no  mirth  in  Wil- 
liam's heart.  He  stood  storming 
on  the  bank,  in  a  puddle  of  water 
that  drained  from  his  clothing. 
Pe-coob-coob  got  his  drink,  and 
unconcernedly  waded  out  of  the 
stream;  but  as  he  passed  by,  Wil- 


WILLIAM  SCRAMBLED  TO  THE  BANK. 


222  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

liam  seized  a  stick  and  brought  it  down  viciously  on  the  hinder 
part  of  the  old  reprobate's  anatomy.  The  whack  was  severe, 
and  Pe-coob-coob  promptly  launched  a  kick  at  the  tree-tops, 
when  in  a  flash  Ruth  found  herself  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
with  her  arms  nearly  to  the  elbows  in  mire.  Her  laugh  sud- 
denly ceased,  and  William's  tow  head  got  several  muddy  cuffs 
as  soon  as  she  could  get  up. 

Louise  rode  across  the  stream  again  and  brought  Nathan 
over.  Then  William  returned  home  with  the  horse,  and  the 
others  went  on  to  school. 

But  insignificant  stream  as  it  was,  Otter  Creek  was  de- 
stined to  be  the  scene  of  a  tragedy  more  serious  than  anyone 
had  thought. 

By  special  request  of  Louise,  some  of  the  larger  boys  of 
the  school  one  day  went  down  to  the  creek  and  felled  a  long, 
slim  sycamore-tree  across  it  for  a  foot  bridge.  The  bridge  was 
too  narrow  for  safe  passage,  and  to  remedy  this  they  made  a 
hand-rail,  by  driving  a  fork  in  the  ground  at  either  end  of  the 
log,  and  laying  a  pole  in  the  crotches.  This  support  stood 
about  two  feet  higher  than  the  foot  log,  and  under  all  ordi- 
nary circumstances  made  it  safe  to  cross. 

But  one  day  in  February  a  deep  snow  fell.  It  was  sport 
for  the  boys  to  wade  through  this,  but  the  girls  were  not  so 
fond  of  the  fun,  and  so  remained  at  home  for  a  week.  Four 
days  after  the  snow-fall  the  sun  came  out  warm  and  full  of 
spring  promise.  By  half-past  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  most 
of  the  snow  had  melted,  the  weather  turned  cloudy,  and  a  smart 
rain  fell. 


WINTER  INCIDENTS.  223 

When  on  their  way  home  the  boys  and  their  little  Quaker 
companions  reached  the  foot-bridge  at  the  creek,  they  were  as- 
tonished to  find  the  water  within  a  few  inches  of  the  log,  and 
booming  along  with  terrible  swiftness  and  force. 

The  two  girls  were  frightened,  and  would  not  venture 
over  until  Nathan  and  William  had  crossed^  Then  the  older 
of  the  sisters  crept  slowly  after  them,  trembling  as  she  went. 
It  was  now  the  turn  of  Sis;  and  already  more  than  ever  fright- 
ened at  being  separated  from  her  companions,  she  made  the 
effort  to  cross  also.  But  the  log  was  icy  from  sleet,  and  when 
she  had  gone  about  two-thirds  of  the  way  over,  Sis  slipped. 
She  threw  her  weight  upon  the  hand-rail;  but  the  damp  ground 
around  the  stake  that  held  it  gave  way.  She  toppled  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  with  a  shrill  cry  plunged  into  the  seething 
water.  It  poured  an  icy  flood  all  over  her,  and  quickly  whirled 
her  down  stream. 

Screams  of  terror  arose  from  the  bank  as  she  disappeared; 
then  both  boys  with  frantic  sister  rushed  after  her.  Once 
more  she  came  up  with  face  towards  them,  and  her  terror- 
widened  eyes  looked  despair  at  the  pursuers. 

About  forty  yards  below  the  ford  was  a  sharp  bend  in  the 
stream,  and  on  the  bank  at  this  point  grew  an  old  oak  that  had 
been  partly  undermined  by  various  overflows  of  the  stream. 
A  snarl  of  roots  stuck  out  into  the  water,  and  the  swift  cur- 
rent boiled  into  the  curve,  carrying  with  it  the  helpless  body 
of  the  child. 

Upon  reaching  this  spot,  the  boys  saw  a  bit  of  dress  flut- 
tering in  an  eddy  under  the  tree.  Holding  to  some  roots  that 

* 


224  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

were  not  submerged,  Nathan  reached  down  and  caught  the 
child's  clothing,  just  as  the  rushing  flood  was  about  to  tear  her 
away.  It  took  all  the  strength  of  both  himself  and  William 
to  drag  the  body  out,  and  when  she  finally  lay  on  the  bank,  to 
all  appearance  she  was  dead. 

William  and  the  sister  stayed  with  her,  while  Nathan  ran 
for  help.  He  met  the  girl's  father  about  half  way  to  the  forks 
of  the  road  where  the  children  turned  off,  the  old  Quaker  often 
coming  to  meet  them  when  the  weather  was  bad.  Upon  hear- 
ing Nathan's  tale,  the  terrified  father  dashed  away  and  found 
Sis  insensible  and  frozen  at  the  ford.  Wrapping  his  great  coat 
about  her,  he  ran  the  horse  home  hoping  that  quick  warmth 
and  restoratives  would  save  her  life.  But  the  little  Quaker 
never  went  to  school  again.  The  shock  and  exposure  brought 
on  lung-fever,  which  quickly  choked  the  life  out  of  her  fragile 
form.  The  next  bridge  she  crossed  was  a  golden  one,  and  ten- 
der hands  must  have  led  her  safely  over. 

School  was  dismissed  for  the  funeral,  and  the  shadow  of 
this  sudden  tragedy  fell  upon  the  scholars  with  a  great  awe. 

For  a  long  time  William  was  inconsolable.  He  read  and 
wept  over  a  poem  in  his  reader: 

"The  bark  that  held  the  prince  went  down." 

In  imitation  of  the  bereaved  father  in  that  touching  story, 
he  felt  that  he  should  never  smile  again.  But  as  time  wore 
on  other  things  occurred  to  divert  the  boy's  thoughts  from 
this  sorrow. 

Of  these  matters  we  shall  hear  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 
NO  ABIDING  CITY. 

A  OTHER  summer  passed,  and  as  fall  drew  on  strange 
things  began  to  disturb  the  Parson's  mind.    He  often 
talked  about  them  with  his  wife;  and  occasionally 
with  parishioners  who  visited  the  farm;  these  excit- 
ing topics  absorbed  most  of. the  conversation. 

The  boys  continually  heard  such  odd  phrases  as  "Rebel- 
dom,"  "Secession,"  "Coercion,"  "The  curse  of  slavery,"  and 
others.  By  degrees  it  dawned  upon  their  minds  that  there  was 
a  very  large  outside  world,  where  a  disturbed  Nation  was  an- 
ticipating a  dire  civil  war. 

As  we  have  before  stated,  the  Apostle  was  a  strong  aboli- 
tionist; he  had  been  born  of  radical  parents,  and  was  in  every- 
thing radically  bred.  As  political  questions  of  the  time  began 
to  foment  in  the  public  mind  he  partook  of  the  excitement, 
growing  hotter  and  hotter. 

One  day  believing  that  it  might  be  a  religious  duty,  he 
even  undertook  to  explain  the  subject  of  slavery  to  the  boys. 
They  listened  in  astonishment,  conceiving  the  wildest  kind  of 
ideas,  and  learning  to  think  and  speak  of  the  institution  as  the 
very  keystone  of  all  wickedness. 

True,  they  were  sadly  puzzled  to  read  in  the  Bible  that 

225 


226  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

the  Israelites  practiced  this  heinous  sin.  William  in  particular 
was  greatly  confused  by  this  fact.  He  asked  the  Parson  one 
day  if  all  "nigger  masters  bored  holes  in  their  slaves'  ears  with 
an  awl,  as  the  men  spoken  of  in  Deuteronomy  were  said  to 
have  done." 

The  Apostle  was  disgusted  with  such  foolish  questions; 
for  whether  it  existed  in  fact  or  not,  he  found  no  difficulty  in 
creating  a  broad  distinction  between  Hebrew  servitude  and 
modern  slave-holding. 

As  the  days  went  by  the  boys  heard  the  names  "Secesh" 
and  "Abe  Lincoln"  very  often;  and  at  the  approach  of  the 
national  election  day,  Parson  Flint  grew  more  and  more  ex- 
cited. When  finally  that  great  event  arrived,  he  went  to  town 
early  without  even  assigning  the  boys  a  task,  and  he  did  not 
return  until  late  the  following  afternoon. 

When  he  got  back  the  boys  were  out  hunting,  but  some- 
thing so  elated  his  mind  that  he  forgot  to  chide  them.  During 
the  course  of  the  evening  he  told  the  family  that  he  believed 
Lincoln  was  elected  President  of  the  United  States,  and  so 
mightily  did  the  Parson  laud  him,  that  Nathan  and  William 
learned  to  revere  this  great  chief  above  all  other  persons. 

At  that  time  there  were  not  so  many  abolitionists  as  might 
have  been  found  a  few  months  after  the  war  broke  out.  It  was 
yet  too  early  for  the  final  test  of  men's  opinion  and  sentiment. 
But  what  in  bitter  scorn  the  Parson  called  "Southern  sympa- 
thizers" were  quite  numerous  on  his  circuit,  and  the  presence 
of  these  "rebels"  only  increased  the  fever  of  his  intense  indig- 
nation. He  began  to  thunder  from  the  pulpit.  He  thundered 


ABIDING  CITY. 


227 


A   REBEL. 
(As  the  boys  fancied  him.) 


228  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

in  the  market-places;  in  the  very  homes  of  these  southern  peo- 
ple. He  thundered  everywhere,  at  all  times  and  in  all  places; 
and  when  news  of  the  secession  of  the  Southern  States  spread 
like  a  panic  over  the  country,  he  thundered  louder  than  ever. 

The  boys  heard  it  all,  moved  by  vague  excitement.  Its 
full  meaning,  of  course,  they  did  not  grasp,  but  the  Parson's 
vigorous  talks  always  held  attention  and  created  strong  impres- 
sions. From  time  to  time  he  read  out  of  the  daily  papers  much 
about  "The  Disruption  of  the  Union;"  "The  Imbecility  of 
Buchanan,"  and  the  certainty  of  a  great  war.  Finally  he  read 
with  fervor  a  long  article  about  the  "Inauguration  of  Lin- 
coln," and  William  eagerly  asked  what  kind  of  an  "auger"  was 
used  in  the  process,  in  answer  to  which  the  Parson  looked  at  him 
in  great  contempt  and  said,  "teck  yerself  away  from  here." 

During  all  this  excitement  the  Apostle's  noise  raised  op- 
position echoes;  he  tTuly  went  forth,  "not  to  bring  peace,  but 
a  sword,"  and  the  wreapon  he  brought  was  double-edged. 
Loudly  did  he  fume  and  scold  about  "actual  rebels"  among 
the  parishioners;  and  so  withering  and  scornful  were  his  tirades 
about  them  that  the  boys  fancied  they  must  have  horns  and 
hoofs,  greatly  desiring  to  behold  one. 

Winter  passed  and  spring  came  on;  then  one  day  when 
the  peach-trees  were  all  in  bloom,  and  the  woods  growing  dense 
with  increasing  green,  the  Apostle  came  home  greatly  de- 
pressed, and  read  in  a  fine  rage  about  "The  Fall  of  Fort 
Sumter."  After  that  he  went  to  town  regularly  for  news,  and 
at  night  pored  over  the  situation  until  long  past  bed-time.  As 
he  read,  he  talked  and  stormed  until  the  boys  verily  believed 


NO  ABIDING  CITY. 


229 


that  with  a  sufficient  number  of  hickory  sprouts,  he  would  be 
able  to  "clean  out  the  whole  Southern  Conthieveracy,"  as  he 
satirically  called  the  secession  government. 

In  this  furious  state  of  mind  he  was  not  calculated  to  reap 
the  fruits  of  peace  upon  his  circuit.  From  re- 
marks the  boys  overheard  they  learned  that  his 
salary  was  seriously  curtailed  on  account  of  the 
defiant  spirit  he  manifested  toward  sundry 
wealthy  parishioners.  But  besides  this  disturb- 
ing news,  they  had  a  hint  of  something  else  that 
secretly  gave  them  great  joy.  When  the  con- 
ference year  closed,  it  was  highly  probable  that 
the  Parson  would  have  to  go  to  a  new  charge. 

Conference  came  early,  the  latter  part  of 
April.  And  one  day  after  the  Parson  had  been 
absent  a  week,  their  mother  told  the  boys  that 
"pa  had  been  appointed  to  Bluff  City,  a  town  a 
hundred  miles  distant  on  the  Mississippi  River." 

They  would  have  received  this  news  with  a 
double  sommersault  and  shouts  of  joy,  had  not 
their  mother  been  crying  bitterly  as  she  told 
them  about  it.  All  their  anxious  questions  could 
not  elicit  the  cause  of  her  grief,  so  at  last  they 
wandered  out  to  the  barn-lot  in  a  very  subdued 
state  of  mind,  wondering  "what  ailed  ma." 

Shortly  after  this  the  Parson  returned  home. 
He  said  he  had  tried  hard  to  secure  an  appoint- 
ment near  the  farm,  but  for  some  unknown  reason 


THE  REBEL. 
As  he  reallv  was. 


230 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


WONDERED  WHAT  An. ED  MA. 


had  signally  failed;  they  must  get  ready  to  move  at  once,  and 
everything  was  prepared  for  another  migration. 

It  was  a  busy,  pathetic  time.  All  the  property,  association 
and  sense  of  ownership  that  had  endeared  the 
place  to  them  for  so  long  had  to  be  given  up. 
And  now  that  they  had  to  leave  it  all,  the  boys 
found  that  the  woods  farm  had  far  more  charm 
than  they  had  before  discovered.  They  wandered 
through  all  the  bypaths,  down  the  branch,  and 
up  toward  the  prairie,  where  they  had  met  with 
such  wonderful  luck  in  their  first  hunt.  They 
went  all  about  the  field,  and  looked  into  every 
nook  and  cranny  of  the  barn,  chicken-house  and 
other  buildings,  saying  a  sad  goodbye  to  every 
place  and  thing  they  saw. 

The  Parson  had  secured  a  good  tenant  for 
the  farm,  who  would  move  in  as  soon  as  the  family  left.  To 
him  all  the  stock  was  sold,  and  by  this  time  it  formed  quite 
an  item.  William  had  more  than  fifty  hens;  and  Nathan  owned 
a  dozen  fine  pigs,  while  the  jack  was  joint  property.  But  the 
Parson  sold  everything,  even  to  the  pretty  white  Berkshire  that 
belonged  to  his  wife.  Daniel  was  the  only  animal  not  put  into 
the  sale,  and  Ump-Ump  would  not  bring  anything,  so  was 
turned  out  to  fare  for  himself.  The  Parson  hurried  matters 
along,  disposed  of  everything  quickly,  and  without  a  word  of 
explanation  pocketed  every  cent  of  the  cash. 

It  quite  broke  the  boys'  hearts,  and  they  bawled  for  hours 
over  the  disappointment.     But  finally  their  grief  was  somewhat 


NO  ABIDING  CITY.  231 

diverted  by  the  news  that  they  were  to  ride  most  of  the  way 
to  their  new  home  on  the  cars.  This  would  be  their  first  rail- 
road trip,  and  the  grief  they  felt  was  soon  submerged  in  excit- 
ing anticipations  of  a  novel  experience. 

On  Sunday  morning  the  Parson  went  to  a  distant  appoint- 
ment for  his  closing  service  on  the  circuit,  and  the  family  spent 
their  last  sad  day  on  the  farm.  Save  barely  enough  to  cook 
with  and  sleep  on,  all  their  household  goods  had  been  packed. 
The  floors  were  uncarpeted,  the  walls  looked  bare  and  lone- 
some, and  the  last  dying  embers  of  moving  time  smoked  feebly. 

Late  at  night  the  Parson  returned,  and  next  morning  all 
the  family  drove  into  Hightown  to  take  the  train.  They  had 
an  hour  to  wait  for  it  at  the  depot;  and  during  this  interval 
the  boys  were  devoured  with  curiosity  at  the  numerous  strange 
things  they  saw.  They  were  absorbed  in  gazing  through  a  win- 
dow at  the  telegrapher  and  his  clicking  instruments,  when  sud- 
denly the  shrill  screech  of  a  whistle  sounded. 

The  Parson  seized  William  with  one  hand,  some  small 
baggage  with  the  other,  and  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  family 
hurried  out  to  secure  seats  in  the  train.  As  the  great  locomo- 
tive, snorting,  hissing  and  roaring  drew  right  up  before  him, 
William  shrank  back,  and  clung  to  the  Parson's  hand  with  a 
death  grip.  But  the  Apostle  whisked  him  and  Nathan  into  a 
car,  and  bestowed  them  compactly  into  a  seat,  at  the  same  time 
giving  them  a  hasty  word  of  admonition: 

"Now  try  an'  behave  yerselves  an'  keep  yer  seats.  If  ye 
go  to  pokin'  yer  heads  out  of  the  winder,  ye  '11  likely  git  yer 
brains  knocked  out;  so  set  still  an'  look  through  the  glass." 


232  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

The  Parson  himself  had  arranged  to  drive  to  the  new  cir- 
cuit as  guide  for  the  teamsters  who  hauled  the  household  goods. 
So,  when  the  whistle  sounded  a  warning,  he  cast  one  compre- 
hensive glance  at  his  family  and  hurried  away. 

The  train  was  soon  roaring  onward,  making  the  boys  fairly 
hold  their  breath  with  the  unusual  speed  and  motion.  When 
they  reached  their  destination  it  had  grown  quite  dark,  and 
they  were  truly  strangers  in  a  strange  land.  The  station  where 
the  family  alighted  was  about  eight  miles  from  Bluff  City,  and 
so  they  had  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  Parson  before  finally 
reaching  their  home. 

By  this  time  the  boys  were  tired,  homesick  and  of  course 
ravenously  hungry.  A  long  walk  to  the  house  of  the  Methodist 
preacher  of  the  little  town  did  not  refresh  them  to  any  extent. 
They  found  his  family  packing  for  their  own  journey,  and  but 
little  was  left  in  the  larder.  After  eating  a  cold  lunch  the 
boys  at  once  went  to  sleep  on  a  pallet  spread  for  them  on  the 
floor,  and  this  was  their  bed  for  the  next  night  also.  During 
the  daytime  they  saw  great  crowds  of  soldiers  marching  some- 
where, and  nothing  seemed  to  be  talked  of  but  the  war. 

When,  on  the  morning  of  the  second  day,  the  Parson  ar- 
rived, he  found  one  of  his  new  parishioners  in  town,  with  a 
two-seated  spring  wagon.  This  brother  took  the  girls,  and  the 
boys  rode  with  their  mother  and  the  Apostle  in  the  family 
buggy.  Bluff  City  was  reached  a  little  before  noon;  and  as 
they  descended  the  last  long  hill  overlooking  the  town,  for  the 
first  time  in  their  lives  the  boys  caught  sight  of  the  mighty  Mis- 
sissippi. Much  the  same  sensations  overwhelmed  them  that 


NO  ABIDING  CITY.  233 

must  have  rewarded  Balboa  when  he  discovered  the  Pa- 
cific Ocean.  They  gazed  in  delight  and  awe;  and  as  a 
big  steamboat  drew  up  to  the  wharf  right  below  them,  they 
nearly  fell  out  of  the  buggy  in  a  stupor  of  admiration  and 
amaze. 

The  new  parsonage  was  another  delight.  It  was  much 
larger,  and  almost  as  elegant  as  the  preacher's  at  Hightown. 
It  had  eight  rooms,  and  was  situated  in  a  beautiful  yard.  The 
stable  was  quite  as  good  a  building  as  the  Hightown  parson- 
age for  the  circuit  preacher,  in  which  the'family  had  lived  for 
six  months.  The  barn-lot  was  roomy,  and  everything  looked 
so  prosperous  and  inviting  that  great  joy  fell  upon  the  Parson's 
family. 

Bluff  City  was  nestled  among  hills,  which  next  to  the  river 
descended  in  steep  limestone  bluffs,  but  on  the  side  adjacent 
to  the  parsonage  were  covered  with  a  tangle  of  forest,  vines 
and  every  sort  of  flowering  verdure.  Within  fifty  paces  of  the 
parsonage  gate  was  a  small,  noisy,  but  crystal-clear  stream 
that  came  from  a  large  spring  near  by,  from  which  a  third  of 
the  town  got  their  drinking  water.  So  rarely  beautiful  was  the 
village,  and  so  entrancing  was  the  spot  in  which  it  was  situ- 
ated that  the  place  looked  to  the  boys  like  some  wonderful 
fairy  land. 

Having  seen  them  arrive,  Brother  Dickinson,  a  parishioner 
and  near  neighbor,  came  over  and  invited  them  to  dinner.  To 
the  boys,  the  comparative  splendor  of  his  home  was  quite  over- 
powering. He  had  no  children  save  one  puny  little  girl,  and 
she  was  too  cross  or  timid  to  make  friends  with  anybody,  so  the 


234  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

boys  sat  uncomfortably  upon  the  edges  of  their  chairs,  listen- 
ing to  talk  about  the  war.  This  was  a  topic  upon  which  the 
Parson  and  his  new  parishioner  seemed  to  agree  perfectly. 

When  dinner  was  announced  there  was  not  room  at  the 
first  table  for  Nathan  and  William;  so  while  the  grown  people 
were  eating  they  went  eagerly  out  into  the  yard  and  tried  to 
get  another  view  of  the  river.    From  that  locality  only  faint 
s*r-  glimpses  of  it  could  be  seen,  and  William  finally  sug- 
gested that  they  climb  a  tree;  this  was  quickly 
done,   and   then   like  Zaccheus  of  old  they  saw 
clearly. 

The  meal  to  which  they  were  presently  called 
was  another  bewilderment.     There  was  a  great 
profusion  of  silver  on  the  table,  and  so  many  new 
CLIMBED  A  TREE.  things  to  eat  that  the  boys  scarcely  knew  how  to 

begin.  Some  cups  of  blanc  mange  puzzled  them 
greatly;  but  William  finally  discovered  the  empty  cups  out  of 
which  the  others  had  eaten,  and  so  arrived  at  a  proper  conclu- 
sion respecting  the  strange  edible. 

In  the  afternoon  the  household  goods  arrived,  and  the  next 
few  days  were  spent  in  fixing  up  the  parsonage.  When  it  was 
all  done,  the  girls  were  delighted,  and  felt  the  greatest  satisfac- 
tion. It  was  much  superior  to  anything  the  family  had  ever 
known  before. 

On  Saturday  Mrs.  Flint  took  the  boys  down  town  and 
bought  each  of  them  a  brand-new  suit  of  clothes;  and  upon  their 
return  home  the  Parson  told  them  that  these  articles  had  been 
purchased  out  of  the  money  for  which  he  had  sold  their  stock. 


NO  ABIDING  CITY. 

He  seemed  to  think  that  this  fact  ought  to  make  a  deep  im- 
pression upon  them,  but  somehow  they  did  not  act  as  wildly 
grateful  as  might  have  been  expected. 

The  following  morning  the  Parson  preached  in  town,  and 
the  boys  wore  their  new  suits  to  church.  They  sat  near  a  win- 
dow, and  lost  much  of  the  discourse  in  trying  to  divide  atten- 
tion between  it  and  the  river,  a  stretch  of  which  lay  in  plain 
view. 

On  Monday  Brother  Slaten,  a  parishioner  from  one  of  the 
country  appointments,  came  in  to  see  the  new  preacher,  and 
brought  him  a  load  of  supplies.  Brother  Slaten  was  a  jolly, 
round-faced  man,  who  could  laugh  louder  than  anybody  the 
boys  had  ever  heard.  He  was  full  of  funny  stories,  and  no  one 
could  be  more  entertaining.  Before  leaving  he  invited  the  boys 
to  come  out  and  spend  a  week  with  him  at  the  farm,  which  they 
promised  to  do  when  the  Parson  would  let  them. 

To  their  unspeakable  joy,  that  evening  the  Parson  allowed 
the  boys  to  go  with  him  to  the  river,  where  numerous  inhabi- 
tants of  the  little  village  went  to  meet  the  St.  Louis  boats,  and 
get  the  daily  papers. 

In  their  tremendous  excitement  the  urchins  could  scarcely 
contain  themselves.  When  they  arrived,  a  score  of  people  were 
already  there,  and  as  the  boys  stood  upon  the  old  flat-boat  that 
had  been  decked  over  for  a  landing-wharf,  they  gazed  upon 
the  mighty  stream  already  dim  with  shadows,  listening  to  its 
murmur  against  the  sides  of  the  barge,  and  felt  very  much  awed, 
talking  in  low  voices  about  the  wonders  that  must  be  hidden 
in  the  depths  of  that  mysterious  channel. 


236 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


Presently  they  were  aroused  by  some  one  calling  loudly: 

"Here  she  comes!" 

The  words  created  a  sudden  stir  in  the  waiting  group. 
And  looking  down  the  river  the  boys  saw  what  seemed  to  be 
a  dim  cloud  that  ever  and  anon  shot  forth  numberless  rockets, 
Roman  candles,  red,  blue,  green  and  yellow,  dancing  and  dis- 
appearing over  the  water. 


HERE  SHE  COMES!' 


Then  came  the  hoarse  "chow I  chow!"  of  the  pipes,  from 
which  boiled  dense  clouds  of  smoke.  Soon  the  melodious 
chime  of  whistles  floated  far  and  wide;  and  when  the  gorgeous 
spectacle  drew  right  up  before  them,  Nathan  quite  lost  his 
head.  Seizing  the  Parson  by  one  hand,  he  cried  aloud  in  a 
trance  of  amazement: 

"Oh,  pa,  le's  board  her!  le's  board  her!" 

A  post-boy  came  out  with  a  bundle  of  dailies  and  was  fairly 
buried  in  the  pushing  crowd  that  surged  to  meet  him.  When 


NO  ABIDING  CITY.  237 

the  Parson  had  secured  his  paper,  and  the  loading  and  unload- 
ing had  been  done  the  great  boat  swept  out  into  mid-stream 
again,  her  tremendous  paddle  wheels  churning  the  water  into 
huge  billows  all  about  her. 

That  night  the  boys  did  not  sleep  for  several  hours.  They 
were  wrought  up  with  intense  excitement,  and  talked  long  about 
the  wonders  of  creation  from  which  for  two  years  they  had  been 
buried  miles  deep  in  the  woods. 


CHAPTER    XX. 
BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE. 

ON  Wednesday  night  after  the  Sunday  services  spoken 
of  in  our  last  chapter,  the  boys,  together  with  the 
Parson  and  Mrs.  Flint  all  went  to  weekly  prayer- 
meeting.    Here  they  came  into  closer  contact  and  ac- 
quaintance with  the  true  children  of  Israel. 

In  the  mixed  congregation  that  came  out  to  hear  the  new 
preacher  on  Sunday,  the  boys,  who  sat  well  up  in  front,  could 
not  detect  sinner  from  saint.  True,  if  they  could  have  inspected 
the  audience  during  prayer-time  they  might  have  been  able  to 
separate  the  sheep  from  the  goats;  for  in  those  days  all  good 
Methodists  knelt  during  invocation. 

As  by  reason  of  parentage  the  boys  were  good  Methodists, 
they  knelt  with  the  others,  and  of  course  this  gave  them  no  op- 
portunity to  look  around,  which  they  very  much  desired  to  do. 
But  prayer-meeting  afforded  them  a  better  chance.  They 
could  be  very  sure  that  all  who  regularly  attended  this  service 
were  staunch  pillars  in  Zion.  In  this  assurance  they  looked 
the  people  over. 

There  were  several  more  women  than  men,  and  both  sexes 
were  old-looking,  or  at  least  of  mature  years.  All  sat  in  the 
"amen  corners"  or  well  up  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and  there 
was  an  atmosphere  of  sedate  piety  in  the  entire  group. 

238 


BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE. 


239 


BROTHER  DARN   BECKWITH. 


240  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

There  was  Brother  Darn  Beckwith.  On  the  big  church- 
book  his  name  was  spelled  "Darnton,"  but  for  short,  and  when 
not  addressed  officially  it  was  Darn.  In  private  the  boys  some- 
times changed  this  singular  title  to  "Dern"  and  "Dang." 

Brother  Darn  was  a  long,  lean,  skinny  man,  with  an  im- 
mense Adam's  apple  that  sloped  away  from  his  stringy  neck 
like  the  corner  of  a  cigar  box.  His  jaws  were  very  long  and 
concave,  except  in  one  particular  spot  on  the  right  side  of  his 
face;  here  he  always  kept  stored  away  a  good-sized  quid  of 
"old  Virginny  twist"  tobacco.  While  talking  he  held  in  his 
bony  chin,  'and  puckered  his  mouth  until  it  resembled  that  of 
a  buffalo  fish.  There  was  not  a  surplus  fibre  of  flesh  about 
him;  and  the  Parson  accounted  for  this  spare  condition  by 
saying  that  "the  man  spit  hisself  all  away  chawin'  tobacker." 

The  good  brother's  eyes  were  very  much  sunken ;  he  looked 
solemn;  he  felt  solemn,  prayed  solemnly,  and  "chawed"  as  one 
who  must  give  an  account.  His  throaty  voice  sounded  as  if 
it  had  to  tip-toe  upon  the  prominent  Adam's  apple  to  get  over 
his  front  teeth. 

In  class  and  prayer  meetings,  Brother  Darn  ever  talked 
about  the  "weakness  of  the  flesh,  and  the  willingness  of  the 
sperit;"  but  the  sarcastic  Parson  said  it  was  no  wonder  he  had 
weakness  of  the  flesh,  because  "he  chawed  without  ceasing." 
Be  that  as  it  may,  Brother  Darn  did  seem  to  have  not  only  a 
great  "weakness  of  the  flesh"  for  the  weed,  but  a  very  marked 
"willingness  of  the  sperit"  for  it  also. 

When  he  talked  about  weakness  or  strength,  or  anything 
else,  he  stood  with  his  hands  lying  one  in  the  other  under  his 


BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE.  241 

coat-tails,  which  like  everything  else  about  him,  were  likewise 
long  and  solemn.  But  despite  any  shortcomings  he  might  have 
had,  Brother  Darn  was  genuinely  religious  and  deeply  sincere. 

On  this  first  prayer-meeting  occasion  the  Parson  in  due 
course  of  time  called  on  Brother  Darn  to  lead  in  prayer. 

The  brother  duly  responded.  He  began  in  a  very  slow, 
solemn  voice,  standing  up  perfectly  straight  upon  his  knees,  and 
rapidly  pinching  together  his  already  closed  eyelids.  As  his 
prayer  progressed  he  grew  more  and  more  inspired,  until  finally 
he  reached  a  thrilling  climax,  and  besought  the  Lord  to  give 
them  all  "faith  to  stand  on  Pisgah's  top,  and  like  Moses  of 
old,  view  the  promised  land." 

Just  here  the  tobacco  in  his  mouth  created  an  overflow, 
and  the  brother  had  to  pause  to  relieve  himself.  It  was  a  tre- 
mendous mouthful,  and  sounded  as  if  it  had  fallen  clear  from 
the  top  of  Pisgah  to  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  when  it  struck 
the  floor. 

But  that  was  not  all:  The  listening  Parson  had  ascended 
on  the  wings  of  Brother  Darn's  prayer.  He  had  become  greatly 
exhilarated,  responding  to  the  petition  with  many  fervent  ejacu- 
lations. Occasionally  when  the  sentiments  uttered  struck  his 
full  approval,  he  spouted  forth  a  perfect  geyser  of  "Amens!" 

It  was  a  glowing  climax  that  preceded  the  good  brother's 
expectoration,  and  no  sooner  was  it  reached  than  it  was  followed 
like  an  exclamation  poiat  by  the  spat  of  the  saliva  on  the 
floor.  Fairly  electrified  by  the  climax,  the  Parson  shouted  a 
loud  "Amen!"  but  he  was  just  one  awful  second  later  than 
the  splash! 


242  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Upon  realizing  this  mortifying  fact,  his  ecstacy  suddenly 
died  out,  and  his  faith  fell  sheer  into  the  valley  before  he 
could  recover  hold  upon  it.  To  climb  up  again  was  impos- 
sible; he  fell  a-groaning,  and  when  Brother  Darn's  prayer 
closed,  the  Parson's  final  amen  was  quite  subdued  and  feeble 
indeed. 

The  boys  happened  to  be  kneeling  in  such  a  position  that 
they  could  see  Brother  Darn,  and  had  become  deeply  inter- 
ested in  his  queer  manner.  They  were  peeping  at  him  over 
their  arms,  that  were  folded  upon  the  seat  at  which  they  knelt. 
When  the  brother  stopped  and  spat  so  suddenly  "it  struck  their 
funny-spots,"  as  William  said,  and  they  giggled  right  out  in 
meeting. 

The  Parson  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  shot  a  threatening 
glance  at  them  which  they  did  not  fail  to  catch;  for  no  sooner 
had  the  snicker  escaped  them  than  they  looked  at  their  father, 
out  of  simple  apprehensive  habit. 

To  their  great  surprise,  however,  the  disgusted  Parson  did 
not  refer  to  this  breach  of  pious  behavior  after  returning  home. 
The  incident  that  caused  their  mirth  overshadowed  everything 
else;  and  the  Apostle  indignantly  declared  that  "any  man  who 
would  do  the  like  of  that  in  the  house  of  God,  ought  to  be  druv 
out  of  decent  society." 

But  Brother  Darn  was  not  the  only  interesting  personage 
at  the  prayer-meeting.  There  was  Brother  Lewis  Somers,  the 
shouting  blacksmith.  He  sat  three  or  four  seats  in  front  of 
the  boys,  and  prayed  aloud  continually,  no  matter  who  was 
leading.  In  the  course  of  the  services  it  came  his  time  to  lead. 


BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE.  243 

He  began  in  a  low  moderate  voice,  but  in  a  most  determined 
manner.  As  his  prayer  progressed  he  became  greatly  excited, 
speaking  louder  and  louder.  Then  he  began  to  sway  back  and 
forth,  drawing  in  his  breath  like  Shikespoke  when  the  snake 
was  after  him.  Pretty  soon  .he  pulled  out  every  stop,  put  on 
the  knee-swell  and  filled  his  bellows  to  bursting.  After  that 
he  could  have  been  heard  for  half-a-mile  as  he  shouted  vo- 
ciferously: 

"Aouuuooo  Lawerrrrd!" 

He  roared  right  at  the  ceiling,  as  if  the  celestial  court  could 
not  hear  him  unless  he  called  as  Elijah  exhorted  the  prophets 
of  Baal  to  do.  After  getting  as  loud  as  he  could,  he  supple- 
mented his  voice  by  pounding  on  the  bench  with  both  fists, 
and  accompanying  the  blows  by  rising  slightly  on  his  toes  and 
stamping  the  floor  with  his  knees.  At  every  blow  the  bench 
groaned  and  jumped,  as  if  resenting  such  rough  treatment,  but 
Brother  Somers  went  right  along. 

Before  this  vocal  cyclone  the  Parson's  amens  were  like 
chaff,  and  after  a  few  vain  attempts  to  gauge  his  responses  to 
the  brother's  voice  he  gave  it  up  and  relieved  his  feelings  by 
sundry  feeble  means  and  tweaks  at  his  heavy  beard. 

Brother  Somers  kept  up  his  bellowing  tornado  for  eight 
or  ten  minutes,  and  then  suddenly  descended  to  his  natural  voice 
in  five  words,  the  last  of  which  was  a  whispered  "amen." 

The  Parson  did  not  slight  the  female  portion  of  the  congre- 
gation, which,  it  will  be  remembered,  formed  the  larger  part 
of  the  gathering.  He  called  on  a  few  of  them  to  lead  in 
prayer,  and  they  responded  according  to  their  several  abili- 

18 


244  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

ties.  The  last  of  these  was  a  very  fat  sister,  with  a  sharp, 
high-pitched  voice. 

She  began  in  a  thin,  high  tone,  and  ascended  therefrom 
in  regular  gyrations.  Her  words  were  all  of  two  or  more 
syllables.  She  called  hope  "ho-wup,"  thee  "the-yuh,"  praise 
"pra-yez,"  and  now  anow-uh."  Well  along  in  her  petition 
she  grew  very  tearful,  and  at  last  her  voice  became  so  fine 
that  it  completely  vanished  before  the  amen. 

For  some  moments  the  kneeling  company  did  not  know 
that  she  was  done;  but  the  Parson  finally  perceived  the  fact 
and  arose  from  his  knees  beginning  a  hymn  as  a  signal  for  the 
others  to  arise. 

There  was  another  member  of  the  circle,  who  lived  within 
two  blocks  of  the  parsonage,  and  whom  the  boys  had  seen  sev- 
eral times  since  they  had  come  to  Bluff  City.  He  was  the 
only  young  man  in  the  company,  and  it  was  not  many  months 
until  the  boys  had  cause  to  remember  him  all  their  lives. 

During  a  short  "experience"  interval,  which  the  Parson 
threw  in  as  variety  to  the  regular  service,  this  young  man  got 
up  and  spoke.  He  said  that  for  a  long  time  the  call  to  preach 
the  gospel  had  been  sounding  in  his  ears;  that  he  had  been 
resisting  the  summons,  but  felt  sure  he  would  never  have  any 
peace  of  mind  until  he  barkened,  took  up  his  cross  and  obeyed 
the  Master's  voice.  From  the  talk  it  seemed  that  he  was  ter- 
ribly beset  by  Satan,  and  had  a  continual  struggle  to  walk  in 
the  strait  and  narrow  path  that  leads  to  glory. 

He  was  a  porky-looking  fellow  with  pendant  jaws  and 
a  chronic  case  of  inflamed  eyes.  But  despite  all  his  pious  and 


BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE. 


245 


JORDAN    BLAKE. 


246  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

pathetic  talk  there  was  a  vicious  look  about  him  that  even  the 
boys  could  detect.  The  skin  on  his  face  looked  as  if  a  gill  of 
grease  might  have  been  scraped  off  it,  and  his  hair  was  glisten- 
ing with  the  same  substance. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  Parson  had  heard  much  about 
this  young  man.  Brother  Somers,  in  whose  "class"  the  corpu- 
lent child  of  trial  had  been  placed,  told  the  Apostle  with  an 
apology  for  "evil-speaking"  that  "Jordan  Blake  was  the  laziest 
hulk  in  America;"  so  lazy,  in  fact,  that  had  it  not  been  for  a 
brother  he  would  have  starved  to  death.  He  further  stated 
that  this  idler  of  twenty-eight  summers  had  been  in  the  same 
religious  tussle  for  the  past  five  years,  and  the  conflict  seemed 
to  absorb  all  his  energy,  leaving  him  indisposed  for  anything 
else  that  had  a  smack  of  honest  work  in  it.  He  had  a  widowed 
mother  and  two  sisters,  besides  the  brother  who  did  odd  jobs 
about  the  river.  And  Brother  Somers  also  told  the  Parson  the 
entire  family  were  violent  rebels,  besides  which  they  had  a  bad 
reputation  in  general,  especially  Jordan,  who  was  thought  to 
be  a  sneak  thief  or  worse.  The  whole  family  lived  on  what 
they  could  pick  up,  aided  by  the  one  son's  occasional  earn- 
ings; but  in  summer  he  said  they  nearly  starved,  and  in  winter 
almost  froze.  In  further  history  of  the  interesting  young  man, 
he  said  that  for  three  years  the  fellow  had  tried  to  obtain  a 
license  as  an  exhorter,  but  the  quarterly  conferences  had  per- 
sistently refused  it  because  of  Blake's  "bone-laziness." 

Now  the  Apostle  was  never  backward  in  rebuking  those 
whom  he  considered  in  need  of  it;  so  in  his  closing  address 
he  made  some  scathing  remarks  about  the  sin  of  idleness,  and 


BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE.  247 

recommended  labor  as  an  appointed  means  of  grace.  Also  in 
accordance  with  his  usual  habit,  he  held  up  to  detestation  and 
scorn  "the  traitors  who  were  trying  to  tear  down  the  country's 
flag  and  enslave  their  fellow-men." 

This  denunciation  of  Southern  principles  had  a  rather  unex- 
pected result.  Jordan  Blake  could  listen  meekly  to  censures 
for  his  indolence,  but  at  the  Parson's  bitter  allusions  to  his 
Southern  sympathies  he  got  up  and  stalked  indignantly  from 
the  room,  and  the  boys  never  saw  him  at  prayer-meeting 
again. 

When,  after  a  few  weeks,  Blake  vanished  from  town, 
the  event  was  commented  upon  as  "good  riddance  of  bad  rub- 
bish," and  no  one  ever  cared  to  ask  where  he  had  gone.  The 
fact  is  that  he  had  crossed  the  river  into  Missouri,  and  later 
we  shall  hear  what  his  business  was. 

One  morning  of  his  second  week  in  Bluff  City,  Nathan 
awoke  with  a  raging  toothache.  The  troublesome  member 
was  a  molar  in  his  upper  jaw,  and  it  seemed  to  have  a  red-hot 
pulse  that  jarred  his  whole  head.  The  pain  was  so  severe  that 
he  roared  until  the  Parson  threatened  to  "frail"  him  if  he 
didn't  stop ;  then  feeling  a  little  mean,  the  Apostle  tried  to 
be  facetious.  He  told  Nathan  that  an  infallible  cure  for  the 
toothache  was  to  fill  his  mouth  with  cold  water,  "and  set  on 
the  stove  until  it  b'iled." 

But  Nathan  was  in  no  mood  to  feel  funny;  he  groaned, 
stormed  and  howled,  saying  that  his  head  was  coming  off.  Fin- 
ally he  tried  the  first  part  of  the  Parson's  recipe;  filled  his 
mouth  with  ice-cold  spring-water.  To  his  astonishment  he 


248  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

found  that  so  long  as  the  water  remained  cold  it  seemed  to  be- 
numb the  pain.  He  would  take  a  large  mouthful  and  when 
it  became  lukewarm,  the  supply  was  renewed. 

During  the  day  he  used  something  less  than  a  gallon  of 
water  in  this  manner,  and  by  night  his  toothache  seemed  to  be 
effectually  frozen  out.  He  slept  well,  but  alas!  when  he  arose 
next  morning  his  jaw  was  swollen  until  it  resembled  Jordan 
Blake's,  and  the  affected  tooth  seemed  to  be  very  much  longer 
than  any  of  the  rest,  besides  being  so  sore  he  hardly  dared  to 
close  his  mouth. 

During  the  next  few  days  while  the  swelling  subsided  he 
nearly  starved,  and  could  scarcely  endure  it;  then  a  bite  of 
pickle  suddenly  awakened  the  tooth  again,  and  it  began  trying 
to  jump  out.  For  two  hours  he  made  the  parsonage  noisy  with 
his  wailings  and  then  the  annoyed  Parson  ordered  him  to  go 
over  to  Dr.  Parker's  office  and  have  the  acher  pulled. 

The  boys  had  often  seen  Dr.  Parker  riding  by  on 
professional  calls.  He  had  a  clay-bank  mare,  so  sway- 
backed  that  when  he  sat  astride  her,  the  rider  looked  as  if 
he  might  be  mounted  on  a  two-humped  dromedary.  When 
Nathan  reached  his  office  the  Doctor  was  not  in,  so  the 
visitor  sat  down  to  await  his  return.  The  place  was  quite 
a  museum ;  shelves  of  bottles,  pieces  of  skeleton,  strange  odors 
and  numberless  odds  and  ends  very  suggestive  and  gruesome 
in  appearance. 

In  the  presence  of  so  many  novelties  Nathan's  tooth  sud- 
denly stopped  aching  and  he  gazed  about  him  in  amazement. 
Presently  the  Doctor  came  in,  and  when  he  looked  at  his  pa- 
tient the  boy  entirely  forgot  what  he  had  come  for. 


BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE.  249 

The  Doctor  was  cross-eyed;  extremely  so.  In  fact,  this 
affliction  was  so  terrible  that  some  untruthful  people  said  he 
had  to  turn  around  twice,  and  then  stand  with  his  back 
to  anything  in  order  to  keep  his  eyes  on  it.  The  look  he 
fixed  upon  Nathan  actually  made  the  goose-flesh  come  out 
on  his  body. 

Performing  the  feats  necessary  to  see,  and  appearing  to 
fix  his  optics  upon  the  root  of  his  tongue,  the  Doctor  asked 
Nathan  in  a  kindly  tone  what  he  could  do  for  him. 

This  inquiry  presently  brought  a  recollection  of  his  errand 
to  Nathan's  bewildered  mind,  and  he  said  he  had  been  having 
an  aching  tooth,  and  the  Parson  had  told  him  to  come  over 
to  have  it  pulled;  but  he  added  that  he  guessed  it  was  all  right 
now;  it  didn't  ache  any  more. 

The  Doctor  was  familiar  with  such  sudden  cures,  how- 
ever, and  insisted  upon  seeing  the  tooth,  "just  to  make  sure." 
So  Nathan  got  into  a  big  chair  with  fear  and  trembling. 
Pulling  down  the  boy's  lower  jaw,  Doctor  Parker  hooked  a 
finger  that  tasted  awfully  bitter  from  quinine  into  the  corner 
of  Nathan's  mouth  and  looked  in;  how  he  managed  it  the  youth 
could  never  imagine. 

But  somehow  for  the  life  of  him  Nathan  could  no  longer 
tell  which  tooth  had  been  aching.  There  were  several  sore 
ones,  and  he  responded  with  a  wince  and  very  much  disguised 
"ouch"  when  they  were  tested.  It  proved  to  be  a  case  in  which 
the  Doctor  himself  had  to  determine  which  was  the  aching 
member.  At  last  finding  a  decayed  molar  he  pitched  upon  it 
as  the  right  one;  and  before  Nathan  suspected  his  design  he 
felt  a  sensation  as  if  the  roof  had  fallen  on  his  skull  and  the 


250 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


floor  seemed  to  jump  up  and  hit  his  lower  jaw;  there  was  an 
agonized, 

"Owwwooo!" — but  too  late. 

The  Doctor  held  the  tooth  between  the  nibs  of  a  pair 
of  hawkbilled  forceps,  and  blood  streamed  from  its  former 
socket. 

"There,"  he  said  coolly;  "it  won't  bother  you  any  more," 
and  he  laid  it  in  a  box  that  contained  many  others. 

The  Doctor  began  mixing  up  some  pills,  and  Nathan  sat 
for  five  minutes,  clearing  his  mouth  of  blood,  and  feeling  the 
hole  in  his  gum  with  his  tongue;  the  place  seemed  astonish- 
ingly large.  Then  telling  the  Doctor  that  the  Parson  would 
settle  the  bill  he  went  home.  Some  two  hours  later  he  discov- 
ered that  the  cross-eyed  Doctor  had  pulled  the  wrong  tooth; 
he  was  apprised  of  this  by  the  right  one's  waking  up  and 
beginning  to  jump. 

Out  of  fear  alone  he  endured  this  as  long  as  he  could, 
but  it  was  too  much  for  him,  and  at  last 
he  began  to  roar.  When  the  Parson 

- o 


found  out  the  facts,  he  took  matters 
into  his  own  hands.  Dragging 
the  sufferer  back  to  the  doctor's 
office,  he  stood  by  while  the  af- 
fected tooth  was  tracked  out  with 
a  steel  gouge.  Then  while  the 
Parson  sat  on  Nathan's  legs  and 
held  his  hands,  the  Doctor  wound 
one  arm  about  the  victim's  neck, 


'WRENCHED  THE   PESKY   ACHF.R   OUT." 


BLUFF  CITY  PEOPLE.  251 

and  wrenched  the  pesky  acher  out.    This  ended  the  toothache, 
but  Nathan  said  he  "felt  as  if  his  head  had  fallen  in." 

Next  day,  although  it  lacked  less  than  a  month  before  the 
summer  vacation,  the  boys  were  sent  to  school.  The  school- 
building  stood  about  three  hundred  yards  from  the  parsonage, 
across  a  stretch  of  beautiful  common,  which  formed  a  spacious 
play-ground  for  the  scholars.  There  were  three  teachers,  in 
as  many  different  rooms.  Mr.  Leckrone  was  the  principal, 
and  Nathan  entered  his  room,  while  William,  not  being  so 
far  advanced,  was  placed  in  the  room  below. 

Mr.  Leckrone  was  a  large,  weak  man,  with  a  violent  tem- 
per. Like  the  Parson,  he  believed  in  frequent  use  of  the  rod 
as  the  true  method  of  reforming  wayward  youth;  but  in  his  own 
room  there  were  several  large,  very  mean  boys,  and  for  caution-, 
ary  reasons  Mr.  Leckrone  was  inclined  to  overlook  much  of 
their  misconduct;  but  all  the  vexation  these  unruly  larger 
scholars  caused  him  was  visited  freely  on  the  small  fry. 

The  stern  Parson  had  given  Nathan  and  William  his  cus- 
tomary caution  when  they  entered  upon  their  studies;  but  the 
boys  seemed  to  understand  the  art  of  behaving,  and  quite  as- 
tonished the  watchful  Apostle  by  their  good  conduct. 

They  got  along  well  for  a  fortnight,  when  an  unfortunate 
thing  happened;  and  as  usual  the  victim  of  it  was  poor  Wil- 
liam. 

/ 

Some  of  the  big  boys  already  mentioned  were  in  the  habit 
of  playing  "whip-cracker."  Once,  during  recess,  they  formed 
a  long  line  for  the  sport,  and  just  as  it  started,  the  end  man, 
who  was  nearly  twice  as  big  as  William,  seized  him  by  the 


252  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

• 

wrist  in  passing,  and  when  the  final  sweeping  crack  came,  let 
him  go. 

After  flying  through  the  air,  William  alighted  upon  his 
stomach,  scooted  about  fifteen  feet  and  finally  brought  up 
against  the  sharp  corner  of  a  fence-post.  While  skimming 
along  he  had  kept  up  his  head  like  a  turtle,  and  unfortunately 
struck  the  post  with  his  eyebrow,  or  more  exactly  speaking, 
where  his  eyebrow  ought  to  have  been.  The  contact  was  hard, 
and  the  sharp  wood  cut  open  the  flesh,  denting  in  the  skull 
like  the  letter  V. 

William  was  of  course  knocked  senseless,  and  most  of  the 
scholars  thought  he  had  been  killed.  One  big,  kind-hearted 
fellow  picked  him  up  and  started  for  the  parsonage,  blood 
from  the  wound  flowing  down  William's  face  in  a  stream. 

It  scared  Mrs.  Flint  into  a  faint,  and  made  the  Parson  so 
furious,  that  he  went  over  to  the  school-house  and  raised  a 
storm.  Of  course  William  recovered,  but  the  boy  that  did  the 
mischief  was  expelled  from  school.  After  that  the  others  were 
very  cautious  about  playing  whip-cracker,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  session  none  of  them  dared  to  nag  and  abuse  the  smaller 
boys. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  PARSON'S  TEMPER. 


r     '-I  "A  HE   dark  cloud   of  war  which  was   threatening  the 

^  country,  had  by  this  time  filled  all  the  southern  skies. 

M          Everything  else  became  of  small  importance  before 

this  one  great  theme;  and  as  call  after  call  came  for 

volunteers  to  fight  the  battles  of  the  North,  a  growing  dread 

of  the  terrible  struggle  filled  all  hearts. 

As  the  certainty  of  prolonged  strife  and  peril  became 
more  apparent,  no  one  was  more  profoundly  affected  by  it  than 
Parson  Flint.  Rabidly  loyal  to  the  North,  and  northern  ideas, 
he  felt  deeply  depressed  and  brooded  over  the  threatened  dis- 
ruption of  the  Union  day  and  night.  At  the  same  time  he 
seemed  to  be  torn  by  some  internal  struggle,  which  cast  over 
his  thought  and  features  a  deeper  gloom  even  than  was  natural 
to  them. 

Mrs.  Flint  and  the  older  girls  watched  him  with  anxious 
hearts  and  secret  fears.  They  well  knew  his  stern  sense  of 
duty,  and  believed  that  if  he  thought  himself  called,  he  would 
enlist  among  the  volunteers  without  a  moment's  hesitancy. 

But  if  the  conflict  going  on  within  him  was  because  of  this 
matter  he  kept  it  wholly  to  himself.  Not  even  to  his  devoted 
wife  did  he  open  his  mouth,  and  she  was  too  well  acquainted 

253 


254  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

with  his  disposition  to  question  him  about  it.  Yet  the  burden 
she  bore  during  these  gloomy  days  none  but  herself  ever  knew. 
The  boys  often  saw  her  weeping,  and  at  all  times  there  was 
the  shadow  of  a  great  fear  in  her  eyes. 

Day  by  day  the  Parson  grew  more  moody  and  depressed. 
He  became  restless  and  irritable,  always  going  early  to  the  in- 
coming boats  to  secure  the  latest  papers.  Then,  during  the 
long  evenings,  he  would  sit  and  pore  over  them,  sometimes 
reading  aloud,  while  Mrs.  Flint  and  the  girls  were  knitting 
socks,  picking  lint  or  preparing  rolls  of  bandages  to  send  to 
the  hospitals,  where  sick  and'  wounded  soldiers  tossed  and 
struggled  in  fever  and  agony. 

At  times  the  boys  would  help  in  the  lint-making,  the 
while  listening  with  vague  terror  to  the  description  of  bloody 
battles  in  far  distant  places,  and  watching  the  gloomy  Parson 
as  he  read.  But  oftener,  mesmerized  by  his  resonant  voice 
they  would  go  to  sleep  stretched  out  upon  the  floor,  and  awaken 
only  when  it  came  time  for  family  prayers.  Then  they  would 
go  to  bed  and  dream  all  sorts  of  terrible  things  suggested  by 
the  Parson's  reading. 

Weighed  down  by  his  growing  distress,  the  Apostle  be- 
came more  and  more  disturbed,  retiring  often  to  his  place  of 
secret  prayer  upon  the  leafy  hillside  back  of  the  house.  Loss 
of  sleep  rendered  him  nervous,  and  a  fever  of  foreboding  seemed 
to  darken  all  his  days. 

This  unhealthy  condition  did  not  improve  his  naturally 
stern  temper.  Generally  austere,  he  now  became  harsh  and 
impatient.  The  boys  were  the  first  to  feel  the  weight  of  his 


THE  PARSON'S  TEMPER.  255 

moods,  and  he  brought  them  up  with  many  a  hard  jolt  as  often 
as  any  spirit  of  mischief  or  disobedience  led  them  astray.  They 
quickly  learned  the  necessity  of  keeping  out  of  his  way  as  much 
as  possible,  and  when  guilty  consciences  led  them  to  fear  his 
vengeance,  they  dodged  about  like  frightened  rabbits. 

But  this  bitterness  of  spirit  on  the  Parson's  part  soon  bore 
worse  fruit.  It  overshadowed  the  family  in  general,  and  here 
it  sometimes  met  with  determined  opposition.  Not  merely  was 
the  Parson  cross,  but  he  was  sometimes  unusually  exacting  and 
overbearing,  so  that  even  Mrs.  Flint  often  had  to  endure  trials 
and  harshness  she  did  not  deserve. 

Finally  this  brooding  unpleasantness  reached  a  climax; 
and  the  memory  of  it  was  like  a  plague-spot  in  the  hearts  of 
the  unhappy  household  for  many  a  long  day  afterwards. 

One  morning  the  Parson  turned  his  aroused  spleen  upon 
Ruth,  who  was  nearly  seventeen  years  old,  and  who  fancied  she 
was  a  young  lady,  removed  by  her  age  beyond  any  practical 
visitation  of  the  Apostle's  wrath.  When  he  spoke  harshly  to 
her  she  "sassed  back."  Instantly  the  outraged  Parson  drew  his 
heavy  hand  across  her  face  in  a  sounding  slap. 

With  flaming  cheeks  and  streaming  eyes,  Ruth  poured  out 
upon  the  Parson  a  storm  of  reproach  and  anger  which  had  all 
the  biting  temper  and  fearless  scorn  that  burned  in  his  own 
bosom.  She  told  him  that  he  was  brutal,  or  crazy;  that  just 
because  he  had  the  strength  of  some  big  animal,  he  need  n't 
think  he  could  scare  everybody,  and  trample  the  feelings  of 
others  under  his  feet. 

For  a  few  moments   the  amazed  Parson  stood  in  open- 


256  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

mouthed  astonishment;  but  he  never  could  brook  rebellion  in 
his  own  family,  so  twisting  round  on  his  heel,  he  strode  out 
of  the  house,  only  to  return  with  a  formidable  "hickory"  in 
his  fist. 

Ruth  divined  the  purpose  of  his  sudden  exit,  but  instead 
of  growing  frightened,  she  worked  herself  up  into  a  very  frenzy 
of  rage  and  defiance.  At  the  time  Mrs.  Flint  happened  to  be 
up  stairs,  but  she  heard  the  slap  and  Ruth's  wild  tirade.  Tremb- 
ling and  sick  with  fear  she  hurried  down,  for  she  knew  only 
too  well  the  inflexible  nature  of  the  Parson's  anger,  and  how 
he  allowed  nothing  to  stand  in  his  way. 

She  threw  her  arms  about  the  raging  girl  and  forced  her 
into  a  bedroom  off  the  kitchen,  shutting  the  door.  Then  with 
white  face  she  met  the  Parson  as  he  strode  into  the  house  with 
gad  in  hand. 

"Pa,"  said  Mrs.  Flint  in  a  pleading  voice,  "think  of  what 
you  are  doing.  Ruth  is  too  old  to  be  treated  like  a  child!" 

"She  is,  is  she?"  grated  the  Parson  between  his  clenched 
teeth;  "well,  I'd  whip  her,  if  she  was  as  old  as  Methuselah, 
and  as  big  as  the  side  of  the  house!  She  shan't  sass  me!" 

"No!  No!  Pa;  for  my  sake,  don't,"  cried  Mrs.  Flint, 
laying  a  restraining  hand  upon  the  Parson's  arm. 

But  the  Parson's  anger  had  gone  beyond  his  own  "sake," 
let  alone  that  of  his  wife.  He  had  a  religious  duty  to  perform; 
and  Solomon's  method  with  a  rebellious  child  was  not  only 
especially  congenial  to  him  just  then,  but  it  was  the  only  system 
of  reformation  which  he  regarded  as  Scriptural  and  right. 

Overhearing  his  determined  words,  Ruth  slipped  quietly 


"The  Boys  Grabbed  Each  a  Sturdy  Leg." 


THE  PARSON'S  TEMPER.  257 

from  the  bedroom  into  the  kitchen,  intending  to  escape  from 
the  house  and  take  refuge  at  a  neighbor's  until  the  storm  had 
spent  itself.  But  the  irate  Parson  happened  to  be  standing  near 
the  kitchen  door  and  caught  sight  of  her.  Shaking  off  the  cling- 
ing hand  of  his  wife,  he  strode  up  to  Ruth  and  seized  her  by 
the  arm. 

But  alas!  the  Parson  was  dealing  with  his  own  courageous 
flesh  and  blood.  The  instant  that  Ruth  saw  escape  was  impos- 
sible she  faced  the  executioner  with  blazing  eyes,,  and  cheeks 
of  stormy  streaked  white  and  red.  When  the  rod  fell  she  ut- 
tered one  scream  like  a  wounded  wildcat,  and  then  stared  into 
the  Parson's  angry  eyes  with  the  look  of  a  fearless  tiger.  Her 
lips  lifted  in  a  snarl,  while  her  clenched  teeth  ground  together. 

By  this  time  the  two  older  girls  had  hurried  into  the  room, 
and  the  boys  were  beginning  to  yell  in  very  terror.  But  when 
the  hickory  fell  upon  poor  Ruth,  as  by  one  accord,  Mrs.  Flint, 
the  two  girls  and  the  boys  flung  themselves  upon  the  infuriated 
Parson  in  a  body.  The  boys  grabbed  each  a  sturdy  leg;  Louise 
and  Mrs.  Flint  his  arms;  Eunice  seized  upon  his  wrist,  and 
with  a  mighty  jerk  wrenched  the  rod  from  his  hand. 

This  sudden  attack  stupefied  the  Parson;  he  stood  with 
dropped  jaw,  scarcely  realizing  what  had  happened  to  him. 
Eunice  threw  away  .the  switch,  and  standing  in  front  of  her 
father,  laid  both  hands  upon  his  shoulders  and  bored  her  big 
gray  eyes  resistlessly  into  the  Parson's  wide  ones. 

"You  shall  kill  us  all  before  we  let  this  go  on,"  she  said 
in  a  strong,  vibrant  voice.  "You  do  n't  know  what  you  are 

doing;  can't  you  see  that  poor  Ruth  is  nearly 'beside  herself?" 
19 


258  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Something  in  her  firm  tone,  and  the  steady,  unfaltering 
gaze  recalled  the  Parson  to  his  senses.  He  groaned,  shook 
himself  free  from  the  detaining  hands,  turned  and  strode 
through  the  open  door,  making  for  his  place  of  prayer  on 
the  hillside. 

During  this  interval,  briefer  than  it  takes  time  to  relate, 
Ruth  had  not  mored,  nor  said  a  word.  When  the  Parson  dis- 
appeared, Mrs.  Flint  rushed  to  her  and  gathered  the  rigid  form 
of  the  victim  to  her  mother's  heart.  Then,  and  not  until  then, 
did  the  girl's  consuming  fury  give  way,  and  with  a  pitiful 
whimper  she  turned  faint  and  weak  in  the  moment  of  rescue. 

Supporting  her  into  the  bedroom,  Mrs.  Flint  called  Eu- 
nice to  her  aid,  and  closed  the  door.  Overcome  by  what  to 
them  was  so  awful  a  tragedy,  the  boys  went  snuffling  and  sob- 
bing out  to  the  lot,  and  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  began  to 
chop  wood  as  a. relief  to  their  sorrows.  They  pegged  away  for 
half  an  hour,  and  the  Parson  had  not  returned.  Finally  they 
began  to  wonder  if  Ruth  was  still  alive,  and  the  fear  for  her 
became  so  great  that  they  crept  into  the  house  to  see.  The  bed- 
room door  was  ajar,  and  through  its  crack  they  saw  Ruth  sit- 
ting upon  the  bedside,  while  Mrs.  Flint  was  brushing  her  long, 
dark  hair. 

"This  has  nearly  killed  mother,"  Mrs.  Flint  was  saying 
to  Ruth.  "For  my  sake  won't  you  go  to  pa  and  ask  him  to  for- 
give you?" 

"Never!  Not  as  long  as  I  live,"  was  the  bitter  reply.  "If 
I  could  die  myself,  I  'd  like  to  do  it." 

This  declaration  was  so  terrible  that  William  broke  out 


THE  PARSON'S  TEMPER. 


259 


crying,  and  rushing  into  the  room  both  of  the  boys  flung  their 
arms   about  Ruth,  sobbing  wildly,   calling  her  "honey,"   and 


EUNICE. 


patting  her  face  until  the  poor,  overwrought  girl  began  to  trem- 
ble;  then  with  one  choking  cry  she   threw  herself   into  her 


26o  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

mother's  arms,  finding  relief  from  the  misery  of  her  heart  in 
a  flood  of  tears. 

Mrs.  Flint  strained  the  shaken  girl  to  her  bosom,  soothed 
her  gently,  and  finally  by  a  nod,  motioned  to  the  boys  to  go 
away.  They  arose  to  leave  the  room,  and  in  a  last  effort  at 
consolation  William  snuffled  out  to  his  unhappy  sister: 

"Do  n't  you  cry,  Ruth.  We  're  so  sorry  for  you,  and  if 
pa  ever  tries  to  larrup  you  ag'in,  we  won't  let  him.  You  Ve 
told  on  us  lots  of  times  and  got  us  whipped;  but  we  don't  care; 
you  kin  do  it  ag'in  any  time  you  're  a  mind  to." 

"I  never  will  again,"  sobbed  Ruth  convulsively;  "never 
again;  not  if  I  was  to  die  for  it." 

The  boys  wandered  disconsolately  about  the  yard  for 
awhile,  and  were  finally  joined  by  Jerry  Ward,  one  of  their 
schoolmates.  Fearing  the  Parson's  return  the  three  climbed 
into  the  haymow,  where  Jerry  soon  heard  the  whole  tale  of 
woe.  He  had  no  sucn  feeling  about  it  as  afflicted  Nathan  and 
William,  but  he  sympathized  with  them  in  a  fashion  not  at 
all  good  for  the  Parson's  sons.  The  main  idea  he  advanced 
was  that  of  a  deep  and  terrible  revenge: 

"I  bet  he  wouldn't  lick  me  mor'n  once't  or  twice't  'til  I 
fixed  him,"  Jerry  remarked  boastingly.  "I  'd  take  the  old 
skeezix  out  and  drownd  him  in  the  river,  or  I'd  smother  him 
in  bed  some  night!" 

But  the  hopelessness  of  all  this  dawned  upon  William. 
"We  can't  do  them  kind  of  things,"  he  said  despondently.  "Ye 
see  pa  's  a  good  deal  bigger  'n  we  are,  an'  he  'd  take  an'  lick 
the  hide  offn  us," 


THE  PARSON'S  TEMPER. 


261 


"Well,"  said  Jerry,  seeing  the  force  of  this  statement; 
"then  I  'd  get  some  powder  an'  blow  him  up  when  he  wuz  n't 
lookin' :  he  would  n't  have  time  to  git  you  if  you  done  that." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  because  they  felt  so  badly  about 
Ruth,  the  boys  lent  willing  ears  to  these  horrible  schemes  of 
Jerry;  and  for  several  days  many  dark  thoughts  fermented  in 
their  minds.  During  this  evil  period  William  one  day  found 
the  Parson's  book-case  unlocked,  and  managed  to  secure  a  full 
tablespoonful  of  powder  from  the  bottle  which  the  Parson  al- 
ways kept  under  lock  and  key.  With  fell  and  gloomy  plots 
in  mind  he  smuggled  this  out  and  hid  it  away.  Then  he  hunted 
up  the  biggest  cob  he  could  find  and  made  a  most  formidable 
cannon,  which  was  loaded  to  the  muzzle  with  buckshot.  Not 
knowing  just  how  to  make  an  attack,  however,  he  trained  the 
weapon  upon  the  lot-gate  while  his  father  was  down  town,  and 
then  covered  it  up  with  a  big  chip.  It  was  his  intention  when 
the  right  moment  came,  to  blow  the  Parson  out  of  the  water, 
or  out  of  his  boots,  which,  did  n't  matter. 

There  is  no  guessing  what  might  have  happened  had  not 
old  Sally,  the  cow,  put  her  big  foot  on  William's  ordnance 
and  crushed  it  into  several  pieces.  By  this  acci- 
dent alone  was  the  Parson  saved  from  being  hor- 
ribly mangled,  or  William  prevented 
from  blowing  his  own  head  off. 

After  being  interfered  with  in  Ruth's 
punishment  the  Parson  left  the  house  as 
we  have  described,  and  he  did  not 
return  until  nearly  dusk.     He  ate 


TRAINED  THE  WEAPON  ON 
THE  LOT-GATE. 


262  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

no  supper,  but  all  the  long  dismal  evening  sat  with  elbows 
upon  his  knees,  and  face  buried  in  his  hands.  Perhaps  the 
tooth  of  remorse  gnawed  him  sharply,  for  his  misery  seemed 
very  great,  and  during  a  week  following  he  hardly  spoke  a 
word. 

The  sorrowful  family  sat  silently  about,  waiting  for  the 
Parson  to  have  evening  prayers,  but  he  gave  no  sign;  and  about 
ten  o'clock  they  retired,  leaving  the  brooding  man  alone. 

Never  before  in  all  the  recollection  of  the  boys  had  family 
prayers  been  thus  omitted,  and  the  circumstance  only  empha- 
sized the  dreadful  impression  the  event  left  upon  their  minds. 


LISTENING  TO  THE 
CANNON. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


THE  DAWN  OF  GRIEF. 


TROUBLES  never  come  singly,  but  "like  birds  of  a  feather" 
seem  to  follow  one  another  and  fly  in  flocks.  Day  by  day  the 
rising  red  tide  of  war  crept  slowly  toward  the  North,  until 
at  last  it  seemed  to  threaten  the  very  seat  of  government. 
Numerous  victories  of  the  southern  arms  sent  yet  greater  waves 
of  fear  and  doubt  through  the  Union;  and  as  fell  slaughter 
marched  clamoring  through  the  land,  a  sable  pall  of  grief  fell 
upon  thousands  of  homes. 

One  misty  morning  nearly  all  of  Bluff  City  was  gathered 
at  the  river,  or  had  mounted  the  hilltops  about  the  little  vil- 
lage. War  had  broken  out  in  Missouri,  and  the  dull  steady 
throb  of  cannon  pulsed  through  the  foggy  air.  For  several 
hours  this  frightening,  fevered  throb  of  carnage  beat  fast,  and 
the  listening  people  held  their  breath  at  times  in  nerve-rack- 
ing suspense.  When  finally  the  far  away  booming  had  died 
down,  everybody  gathered  at  the  wharf  to  meet  the  evening 
boat  which  brought  St.  Louis  papers  with  news  of  the  battle. 
Then  it  was  learned  that  the  Union  forces  had  gained  a  hard- 
fought  field  which  cost  them  all  too  dear. 

Following  this  excitement  came  rumors  of  guerrilla  raid- 

263 


264  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

ing  across  the  river,  and  wild  tales  were  afloat  as  to  the  merci- 
less butchery  and  inhuman  cruelty  of  these  "bushwhackers." 
The  worst  of  it  was  that  many  of  these  fearful  stories  were  true. 
Bands  of  lawless,  irresponsible  men,  who  assumed  war  as  an 
excuse  for  their  conduct,  often  played  the  part  of  mere  rob- 
bers and  cut-throats,  wreaking  vengeance  on  their  personal  ene- 
mies, or  else  torturing  and  outraging  utterly  harmless  and  in- 
nocent people. 

One  day  rumor  had  it  that  several  of  these  wolves  of  war 
had  crossed  the  river  a  few  miles  above  Bluff  City,  burned 
the  house  of  an  unprotected  farmer  and  horribly  maltreated 
his  family.  And  when  this  story  was  confirmed  the  whole 
country-side  was  aroused  to  indignation  and  thoughts  of  venge- 
ance before  unknown. 

Every  able-bodied  boy  and  man  in  the  town  joined  the 
home-guards,  being  constantly  drilled  by  their  chosen  officers. 
It  was  not  known  how  soon  the  villagers  might  Be  called  upon 
to  defend  their  own  homes  from  daring  bands  of  depredators. 

Foremost  among  the  sympathizers  and  organizers  of  this 
home  militia  was  Parson  Flint.  He  turned  his  congregation 
into  a  church-militant,  and  preached  such  bitter,  scathing  ser- 
mons upon  rebellion  and  rebels  that  the  fame  of  him  went 
abroad,  awakening  not  only  the  muttered  protest  of  sundry 
parishioners  who  had  Southern  prejudices,  but  drawing  upon 
the  orator  th«  more  dangerous  notice  of  the  guerrillas  as  well. 

These  latter  favored  him  with  several  anonymous  letters, 
full  of  threat  and  promise  of  dire  chastisement  if  he  continued  to 
heap  abuse  upon  them  and  the  cause  which  they  disgraced.  But 


THE  DAWN  OF  GRIEF. 


265 


if  they  thought  to  scare  the  sturdy  Parson  they  did  not  know  his 
mettle.  He  read  their  letters  aloud  from  the  pulpit  and  in  the 
market-places,  with  running  comments  of  sarcasm  and  de- 
fiance ;  and  when  some  of  his  more  cautious  friends  warned  him 
to  be  careful,  he  replied  that  he  could  thresh  all  such  cowards 
as  these  anonymous  letter-writers  with  only  half  a  show  and 
a  couple  of  cornstalks. 

But  though  the  Parson  himself  was  fearless  and  rash,  these 
sinister  warnings  sent  him  planted  yet  deeper  dread  in  the 
heart  of  his  wife  and  the  minds  of  the  two  older  girls.  They 
pleaded  with  him  not  to  be  so  headstrong,  but  after  his  usual 
manner  he  laughed  at  their  fears,  and  refused  utterly  to  carry 
anything  in  the  way  of  arms. 

In  his  burning  zeal  perhaps  the  Parson  somewhat  enjoyed 
the  notoriety  his  conduct  gave  him;  but  however  dauntless  and 
courageous  he  was,  no  one  doubted  the  sincerity  of  his  rabid 
politics.  Yet  the  danger  gathering  about  him  was  much  greater 
than  he  knew,  and  it  was  to  follow  him  with  such  a  sinister 
front  that  even  he,  iron-hearted  as  he  was, 
might  well  have  halted  and 
blenched  before  its  blighting 
aspect. 

The  foreboding  distress 
of  Bluff  City  reached  a  cli- 
max when,  in  response  to  an 
importunate  call,  a  hundred 
of  the  home  militia  finally 
went  to  join  the  Union  force 

JJr  * 

"To  TIME  THEIR  STEPS. 


266  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

under  Grant,  down  the  Mississippi.  They  were  the  crack  mem- 
bers of  the  home-guard,  and  when  on  the  appointed  day  they 
marched  from  the  public  square  down  to  the  transport  waiting 
to  convey  "them  to  battle,  one  of  the  school-boys  walked  proudly 
at  the  front,  beating  his  drum  to  time  their  steps. 

With  the  great  throng  went  the  Parson,  Nathan  and  Wil- 
liam to  see  the  last  of  them;  and  woeful  to  relate,  it  was  the 
last  of  full  half  their  number.  Tears  and  wailings  followed 
them.  When  the  men  had  swarmed  upon  the  great  boat  at  the 
wharf,  there  were  cries  and  sobs  from  terror-stricken  wives 
and  children,  mingled  with  clinging  farewells  that  in  so  many 
instances  meant  forever. 

The  scene  became  so  harrowing  as  almost  to  unman  some 
of  the  departing  regiment;  and  to  divert  the  overwhelming 
grief,  several  of  the  men  called  upon  the  Parson,  whose  tall 
form  marked  him  among  the  crowd,  requesting  him  to  make 
them  a  goodbye  speech.  But  his  own  heart  was  full;  and  when 
a  cry  for  silence  caused  a  hush  to  fall  upon  the  crowd,  the  Par- 
son mounted  a  pile  of  lumber  on  the  deck;  then  instead  of 
pouring  out  one  of  his  fiery  speeches,  he  dropped  upon  his 
knees,  raised  his  great  hands  aloft  and  began  to  pray. 

When  he  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  lumber-heap  every 
eye  in  the  murmuring  crowd  was  turned  upon  him,  and  the 
breath  was  subdued  to  hear  what  he  might  say.  Nathan  and 
William  had  .followed  him  closely,  and  stood  just  below  him 
on  his  elevation.  When  suddenly  he  knelt,  out  of  sheer  force 
of  habit  they  also  dropped  upon  their  knees.  Then  his  first 
words  had  scarcely  been  uttered  when  it  was  as  if  some  great 


He  Began  to  Pray. 


'THE  DAWN  OF  GRIEF.  267 

hand  of  awe  had  been  laid  upon  the  throng  about  him.  With 
one  accord  they  got  down  upon  their  knees.  Strong  men  clasp- 
ing wives  aiiva  Bobbing  children  in  brave  arms;  lovers  hand  in 
hand,  shaken  with  the  grief  of  parting,— all  bowed  down  in 
tearful  silence  as  the  Parson's  mighty  voice  rose  and  boomed 
upon  the  air. 

For  a  brief  spell  the  boat's  crew  hung  in  the  wind,  and 
then  they  too  knelt,  awed  by  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion.  And  ' 
when  the  gruff  captain,  whose  heart  had  been  hardened  by 
many  such  scenes,  and  whose  eyes  had  looked  upon  numerous 
battle-fields  until  they  had  almost  forgotten  how  to  weep,  came 
out  upon  the  bridge  and  gazed  down  upon  the  kneeling  throng 
below  him,  he  too  took  off  his  cap,  and  dropped  his  grizzly 
old  head  upon  his  breast  with  a  sigh. 

As  the  prayer  proceeded,  up  from  the  kneeling  throng 
upon  the  deck  arose  the  response 'of  murmured  petitions,  chok- 
ing sobs  and  the  whimpering  of  frightened  children.  The  Par- 
son's soul  was  shaken  within  him,  and  the  fountains  of  his  own 
sorrows  were  broken  up ;  yet  strong  above  all  other  sounds  his 
great,  deep  voice  rose  and  soared,  like  some  dominant  call  of 
faith  saying  to  the  storm,  "Peace,  be  still!"  With  a  quiver 
and  thrill  that  vibrated  through  every  heart  within  sound  of  his 
words  the  Parson  closed  his  pleadings: 

"Oh,  Heavenly  Father,  pour  the  comfort  of  Thy  love  and 
tenderness  upon  these  sorrowing  hearts.  Be  with  these,  our 
neighbors  and  brothers,  who  go  from. us  to  fight  the  battles 
of  their  country;  guard  them  in  the  hour  of  danger;  into  Thy 
hands  we  commit  them  and  the  grief-stricken  wives  and  chil- 


268  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

dren  they  leave  behind.  If  it  be  Thy  will,  unite  their  hearts 
again  in  the  love  of  home  and  fireside  when  this  cruel  war 
is  over.  This  we  ask  in  the  name  of  Him  who  said,  'Let  not 
your  hearts  be  troubled;  ye  believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  Me.' 
Amen!" 

And  up  from  the  weeping  daughters,  mothers  and  sons, 
as  well  as  from  the  departing  soldiers  and  even  the  gray  old 
captain  there  swelled  in  heart-felt  unison  a  great,  responsive 
"Amen!" 

When  the  clanging  bell  and  the  captain's  roaring  cry  had 
sent  the  reluctant,  lingering  crowd  ashore,  the  ladened  boat 
pushed  off  and  turned  its  prow  down  stream.  So  long  as  it 
was  in  sight  there  was  waving  of  caps  from  its  decks,  answered 
by  fluttering  handkerchiefs  from  the  wharf,  until  finally  the 
mists  of  tears  and  distance  hid  the  departing  home-guards  from 
sight.  The  forlorn  ones  then  slowly  dispersed,  going  back  to 
lonely  homes  praying  in  their  hearts  that  the  ruthless  dragon 
of  war  might  spare  their  offered  treasures. 

When  the  boys  got  home  from  school  next  day,  they  found 
their  mother  in  great  distress,  making  hurried  preparations  to 
go  away.  One  of  her  sisters,  who  lived  a  hundred  miles  up 
the  river  was  dangerously  ill  and  had  sent  for  her.  How  long 
she  would  have  to  be  away  was  uncertain,  and  to  the  boys  her 
going  was  almost  as  grievous  as  death. 

That  evening  they  went  with  her  and  the  Parson  to  the 
boat,  and  after  numberless  hugs  and  kisses  and  goodbyes,  they 
saw  her  borne  away  in  the  dusk,  watching  her  dear  face  as  long 
as  it  was  in  sight.  The  next  day  was  Saturday,  and  never  did 


THE  DAWN  OF  GRIEF.  269 

the  parsonage  seem  so  lonesome  and  desolate.  When  break- 
fast was  over  and  the  Parson  had  gone  down  town  the  boys 
wandered  aimlessly  through  the  house,  finally  going  up  to 
their  mother's  room.  All  about  were  the  articles  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  wearing.  Her  work-basket  was  on  a  stand,  and 
a  half-finished  sock  she  had  been  knitting  lay  folded  around  the 
needles  on  top.  Finally  they  peeped  into  the  closet,  and  in  a 
burst  of  grief  William  hugged  one  of  her  old  dresses  hang- 
ing there,  burying  his  tearful  face  in  its  folds.  Then  he 
wept  over  a  pair  of  her  shoes,  sitting  down  on  the  floor 
and  hugging  them  tightly  to  his  heaving  breast.  How  many 
steps  they  had  taken  for  him,  and  now  the  owner  had  gone 
far  away! 

After  a  time  he  and  Nathan  went  out  into  the  lot,  and  lay 
down  in  the  shade  of  the  barn,  afflicted  with  a  spell  of  silence, 
and  thinking  only  of  her.  Presently  William  rolled  over  on 
his  stomach  and  with  elbows  on  the  ground,  supported  his  chin 
in  his  hands.  Nathan  said  musingly,  "I  wonder  where  she  is 
now?"  Then  William's  heart  almost  choked  him;  burying 
his  working  face  in  his  arms,  he  let  out  one  piteous  howl  of 
grief: 

"Oh,  I  do  wisht  she  wuz  here!" 

Nathan  made  no  reply,  but  his  own  heart  echoed  that  cry 
of  love  and  loneliness.  He  had  been  playing  soldier,  however, 
and  so  made  a  great  effort  to  hold  back  the  hot  tears  which 
made  his  eyes  sting  and  wink  so  fast.  He  gulped  a  time  or  two, 
poked  a  straw  into  a  worm-hole  in  the  ground  and  said  never 
a  word. 


270  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

In  a  little  while  some  schoolmates  of  about  their  own  ages 
came  by  and  called  to  them  to  come  and  play  soldier.  It  was 
well  that  something  should  happen  to  make  them  forget  their 
sorrows. 

In  days  gone  by  the  Parson  had  been  a  member  of  the 
home  militia  where  he  lived,  and  during  this  time  had  bought 
him  a  sword.  One  day  the  boys  had  found  this  old  weapon 
among  some  lumber  in  the  smoke-house  and  confiscated  it  with 
great  joy.  It  was  a  very  long  blade,  and  William  could  not 
wear  it  at  all.  This  fact  caused  them  to  make  a  fair  division 
of  the  spoils,  Nathan  having  the  sword,  and  his  brother  car- 
rying the  scabbard.  Among  their  soldier-playing  schoolmates 
the  possession  of  a  real  sword  gave  them  great  prestige;  and  by 
lending  it  to  the  older  boys  occasionally,  both  William  and 
Nathan  were  greatly  promoted  in  the  various  drills  of  the 
scholars. 

Besides  this,  in  some  of  his  good-humored  moments  the 
Parson  had  condescended  to  recall  certain  of  his  old  military 
tactics,  and  he  gave  the  boys  a  few  lessons  which  they  quickly 
learned  and  proudly  used  in  many  mimic  battles. 

Called  by  their  eager  companions,  the  boys  ventured  out 
upon  the  commons,  and  for  half  an  hour  engaged  in  play.  But 
all  the  while  they  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  Parson's  re- 
turn; and  when  at  last  the  dread  lest  they  should  be  caught 
out  of  bounds  became  too  great,  they  suddenly  broke  off  play- 
ing and  returned  to  the  parsonage  premises,  assuring  their  clam- 
orous companions  that  "pa  was  going  away  soon,  and  then  they 
could  all  have  a  good  time." 


THE  DAWN  OF  GRIEF.  271 

About  half-past  nine  o'clock  the  Parson  came  back,  and 
to  the  surprise  and  delight  of  the  boys,  he  had  a  letter  from 
Mrs.  Flint.  This  had  been  written  upon  the  boat,  about  tvv.enty 
miles  from  Bluff  City.  A  neighbor  of  her  sister's  had  met 
Mrs.  Flint  and  given  her  a  full  account  of  the  serious  sickness 
that  had  called  her  away.  She  said  that  from  reports  the  sick 
woman  was  quite  dangerously  ill,  which  might  detain  Mrs. 
Flint  for  two  weeks  or  more.  The  letter  was  brought  back  by 
a  passing  boat,  and  she  had  written  them  the  first  news. 

All  the  wife's  and  mother's  heart  was  in  the  quaintly  scrib- 
bled pages,  and  when  the  Parson  had  read  it,  he  tossed  the  mis- 
sive to  the  boys.  They  seized  upon  it  as  upon  some  great  treas- 
ure, taking  it  away  to  read.  At  the  last  of  it  there  was  a  message 
for  them  alone,  which  they  read  with  glowing  hearts: 

"I  wonder  what  you've  been  doing  since  I  left,"  she  said; 
"you  are  both  in  my  thoughts  all  the  time;  and  I  pray  the  good 
Lord  to  keep  you  safely  day  and  night;  so  farewell,  my  own 
precious  boys." 

How  many  times  they  read  her  words  and  hugged  the  let- 
ter to  their  hearts  it  would  be  hard  to  say;  it  was  a  bit  of  com- 
fort they  had  not  dreamed  of  getting  so  soon  after  she  had 
gone  away. 

A  little  after  ten  o'clock  the  Parson  prepared  to  drive  to 
one  of  his  country  appointments,  expecting  to  be  gone  over 
the  Sabbath.  The  place  was  about  seven  miles  from  Bluff  City, 
and  when  he  had  got  Daniel  hitched  to  the  buggy,  suddenly 
he  ordered  William  to  get  ready  to  go  with  him.  Mrs.  Flint 
was  away  from  home,  and  the  Apostle  had  no  desire  to  leave 


272  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

the  boys  together  for  two  long  days,  fearing  they  might  hatch 
up  mischief. 

Eunice  dressed  William  in  his  best  clothes  and  furnished 
him  up  for  the  trip,  at  the  same  time  giving  him  sundry  admo- 
nitions as  to  good  manners  and  proper  behavior.  Then  the 
Parson  laid  out  some  wood  for  Nathan  to  chop,  enough  to 
occupy  him  for  the  balance  of  the  lonely  day,  and  with  Wil- 
liam, looking  very  woe-begone,  drove  away. 


ALONG  THE 
LEAFY 
LANES. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY 
WAYS. 


NEVER  for  very  long  at  a  time  was  Parson  Flint  either  jolly 
or  sociable,  especially  with  members  of  his  own  family.  To- 
day he  seemed  to  be  more  silent  and  taciturn  than  usual.  Oc- 
casionally sundry  ejaculations  of  a  prayerful  nature  would 
escape  his  lips,  or  else  he  would  groan  dismally,  as  if  his  think- 
ing machinery  needed  some  of  the  oil  of  gladness  to  keep  it 
from  creaking. 

So  as  William  and  he  drove  along  the  country  lanes  or 
through  the  leafy  woods  the  trip  was  not  at  all  enlivening. 
Once  only  did  anything  occur  to  break  its  monotony:  a  huge 
mottled  snake  that  seemed  recently  to  have  shed  its  skin  crossed 
the  road  in  front  of  Daniel,  making  the  old  horse  snort  and 
shy.  The  Parson  quickly  halted  him,  sprang  out  and  killed 
the  ugly  reptile,  tossing  its  body  far  out  into  the  brush.  Then 
re-entering  the  carriage,  he  directed  William  to  drive  on 
slowly,  while  he  himself  took  out  his  Bible  and  sought  to  fix 
his  mind  upon  the  coming  Sunday  sermon. 

273 


274  THE  PERSON'S  BOYS. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  they  reached  Brother 
Slaten's,  where  the  Parson  expected  to  stay  during  the  next 
two  days.  William  opened  the  big  gate  and  the  Parson  drove 
into  the  barnyard.  Then  giving  the  lines  into  the  boy's  hands, 
he  went  to  the  farm-house,  a  hundred  yards  distant,  to  see  if 
anyone  was  at  home. 

As  he  strode  away  three  or  four  awakened  dogs  began  to 
bark,  and  their  clamor  brought  Sister  Slaten  to  the  back  porch. 
She  was  a  very  fat  woman  with  red  hair,  and  a  most  jolly, 
beaming  face.  Hurling  a  stick  of  stove  wood  at  them,  she  scat- 
tered the  yelping  dogs  and  hailed  the  Parson  with  whole-souled 
heartiness. 

"Jist  put  yer  brute  in  the  barn,  Brother  Flint,"  she  said; 
"and  then  come  right  into  the  house.  Slaten  is  plowin'  over 
yander," — and  pointing  to  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant, — "but 
it's  nigh  time  fer  dinner,  an'  I'll  call  him  in." 

Saying  this  she  waddled  into  the  kitchen,  soon  re-appear- 
ing with  a  big  conch  shell  which  she  put  to  her  lips  and  sounded 
a  long  note  or  two  to  summon  Brother  Slaten. 

William  helped  the  Parson  to  unhitch  Daniel  and  then 
led  him  into  one  of  the  numerous  stalls  of  the  barn.  When 
the  horse  was  secured  and  fed,  he  followed  the  Parson  to  the 
house,  and  Sister  Slaten  ushered  them  into  the  cool  sitting- 
room.  After  shaking  hands  with  the  Parson  and  rolling  up  a 
big  horse-hair  chair  for  him,  she  turned  with  a  motherly  smile 
to  William : 

"So  ye  brought  the  boy  along,"  she  said  cheerily.  "I  'm 
mighty  glad  he  come.  How  are  ye,  my  son;  and  how's  your 
ma?" 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      275 

"Ma  's  gone  off,  and  won't  be  back  fer  I  dunno  how  long," 
William  replied;  and  his  tone  and  look  were  so  forlorn  that 
the  good  woman  took  him  in  her  arms,  giving  him  a  smoth- 
ering hug  to  her  broad  fat  bosom. 

"Bless  the  child!"  she  exclaimed  pityingly.  "I  jist  know 
he  's  been  so  lonesome  he  did  n't  know  what  to  do.  But  then 
your  ma  will  come  back  soon,  I  guess ;  and  won't  you  be  glad 
to  see  her!" 

"I  jist  do  n't  believe  I  kin  wait  till  she  gits  home,"  burst 
out  William  with  a  snivel.  "She  writ  a  letter  and  said  she 
did  n't  know  when  she  'd  come  back." 

Mrs.  Slaten  gave  him  another  squeeze  and  tender  kiss, 
saying  with  a  suspicion  of  moisture  in  her  eyes:  "Me  and 
Slaten  love  boys.  We  have  n't  got  any  now.  Jimmy  went 
away  to  jine  the  army  six  months  ago.  But  now  you  jist 
have  a  good  time,  my  son,  and  I  '11  hurry  and  git  dinner  on 
the  table." 

It  was  not  long  before  Brother  Slaten  came  in  from  the 
field,  riding  one  lusty  mule  and  leading  another  that  kept  pull- 
ing back.  The  chain  tugs,  looped  in  its  back-band  constantly 
slapped  him  under  the  belly  as  he  minced  along,  causing  the 
animal  to  hump  himself  up,  and  look  very  much  as  if  he  would 
like  to  use  his  heels. 

The  Parson  and  William  went  out  to  greet  the  farmer, 
and  his  hearty  grip  fairly  made  the  boy's  fingers  numb.  Turn- 
ing the  mules  over  to  a  hired  man  that  came  up  presently,  he 
himself  went  with  the  visitors  back  to  the  house.  By  the  time 
Brother  Slaten  had  washed  up,  his  wife  announced  that  din- 
ner was  ready.  When  William  sat  down  to  the  table,  his  spirits 


276  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

were  mightily  uplifted  by  the  sight  of  a  great  platter  of  luscious 
browned  chicken,  and  a  huge  bowl  of  cream  gravy. 

The  Parson  asked  the  usual  blessing,  and  then  Sister  Slaten 
seemed  to  resolve  that  William  should  be  kept  busy.  She  fairly 
loaded  his  plate  with  drum-sticks,  gizzards  and  other  tidbits  of 
which  he  was  very  fond;  and  in  the  onslaught  that  followed  her 
liberality  the  boy  once  more  thought  it  good  to  be  alive.  The 
ride  had  made  him  ravenous. 

The  Parson  himself  was  by  no  means  idle,  but  he  and  the 
farmer  managed  to  talk  between  bites.  William  regarded  this 
as  a  waste  of  precious  time,  and  employed  his  jaws  to  better 
purpose.  Near  the  close  of  dinner  a  great  squawking  and 
outcry  arose  from  the  fowls  in  the  back  yard  off  the  kitchen. 
Mrs.  Slaten  got  up,  and  as  fast  as  her  great  weight  would 
allow,  hurried  to  the  door,  William  at  her  heels.  Presently 
she  called  urgently  to  her  husband: 

"Sam,  bring  yer  gun  quick;  it's  that  pesky  hawk  after  the 
chickens  ag'in,  and  he  's  lit  on  the  big  tree  out  here." 

Brother  Slaten  stepped  quickly  to  a  rack  at  the  end  of 
the  dining-room  and  took  down  his  rifle,  throwing  back  the 
hammer  as  he  started  for  the  yard  to  see  if  the  cap  was  in 
place.  The  Parson  then  got  up  from  the  table  and  said  with 
considerable  confidence: 

"Let  me  try  him,  Brother  Slaten;  I  used  to  be  a  pretty 
good  hand  with  a  gun,  once  upon  a  time." 

"And  welcome,"  replied  the  farmer.  "I  Ve  banged  away 
at  the  critter  twice  before,  and  never  stirred  a  feather." 

Taking  the  rifle,  and  hefting  it*  in  his  hand,  the  Parson 
stepped  out  upon  the  back  porch.  He  caught  sight  of  the  hawk 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      277 


perching  impudently  upon  the  top  of  a  tree  near  at  hand,  and 
raised  the  weapon  to  his  shoulder.  Standing  steady  as  a  rock, 
he  glanced  along  the  sights,  while  William  clapped  his  hands 
over  his  ears,  waiting  for  the  shot, 


with 
bird. 


eyes    fixed    upon    the    poised 


"STANDING  STEADY  AS  A  ROCK. 


The  keen,  whip-like  crack  of 
the  rifle  rang  out,  the  great  hawk 
started,  tottered,  and  finally  pitched 
forward  over  the  limb,  where  for  a 
few  moments  it  clung  by  one  foot. 
Presently  it  let  go,  and  with  a  swirl 
and  tumble  fell  to  the  ground,  driv- 
ing the  alarmed  chickens  and  other 
fowls  nearly  frantic  with  its  sudden 
advent  among  them.  One  old  war- 
rior among  the  ganders  sailed  at  the  carcass  with  a  loud  scream, 
but  by  some  instinct  seemed  to  find  out  quickly  that  the  enemy 
was  dead,  and  then  stalked  solemnly  away,  sounding  his  note 
of  assurance  to  the  other  fowls. 

"Thank  goodness,  Brother  Flint  hez  killed  the  nasty  thing," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Slaten  fervently.  "It's  been  around  here  for 
two  months  and  has  e't  up  half-a-dozen  of  my  best  Bramah 
chicks." 

William  raced  away  and  picked  up  the  dead  hawk,  bring- 
ing it  to  the  porch  where  the  Parson  stood,  holding  back  the 
rifle-hammer  with  one  toe,  and  blowing  the  smoke  from  its 
barrel. 


278  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"Why,  Parson,  ye  knocked  the  daylights  plufnb  out  uv  it," 
exclaimed  Brother  Slaten  admiringly.  "I  didn't  suppose  ye 
were  that  handy  with  a  weepun.  What  if  a  Johnny  Reb  had 
been  off  that  distance  and  ye  lookin'  along  the  sights  at  him; 
it  'ud  'a'  spiled  his  pussonal  features  fer  him,  I  reckon." 

"They  used  to  call  me  a  purty  good  shot,"  remarked  the 
Parson  complacently.  "I  could  take  the  head  off'n  a  guinny 
hen  at  forty  yards;  and  you  know  the  critters  dodge  like 
lightnin'." 

"Great  Scott,"  said  Brother  Slaten,  chuckling  heartily. 
"You  'd  ought  to  hev  been  a  soldier." 

"I  Ve  sometimes  thought  so  myself,"  returned  the  Parson 
sadly. 

When  he  said  this  William  laid  the  dead  hawk  upon  the 
porch  and  stared  at  his  father  with  a  great  jump  of  fear  in 
his  heart.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the  idea  of  the  Parson's 
being  a  soldier  had  ever  entered  his  mind,  and  the  bare  thought 
of  it  scared  him. 

Without  pursuing  the  subject  further,  the  Parson  stepped 
forward  and  examined  the  hawk  in  absent  minded  sort  of 
fashion.  It  was  a  large  specimen  of  its  kind,  with  cruel,  hooked 
beak  and  long  curving  claws.  The  rifle  bullet  had  gone  through 
its  body,  breaking  one  of  its  broad  wings  in  the  passage.  Pres- 
ently the  Parson  took  out  his  knife  and  cut  off  one  of  its  legs 
at  the  thigh  joint,  skinning  back  the  flesh  and  leavin'g  an  inch 
or  so  of  the  tendons  on  both  sides  exposed.  Then  he  showed 
William  how  the  bird  worked  its  talons  as  it  seized  upon  prey. 
By  pulling  the  tendons  on  the  front,  the  great  foot  spread  wide, 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      279 

as  when  the  bird  is  about  to  alight.  Then  by  drawing  upon 
the  leader  at  the  back,  the  toes  shut  up,  clasping  the  keen  claws 
like  the  fingers  of  one's  hand. 

To  William  this  was  something  very  novel,  and  he  was 
as  much  interested  as  a  boy  could  be.  When  the  Parson  and  his 
parishioner  had  gone  into  the  house  again,  the  youth  borrowed 
a  knife  from  Mrs.  Slaten,  and  cut  off  the  other  leg  as  he  had 
seen  the  Parson  do.  The  two  made  a  treasure  that  would 
cause  other  boys  to  open  their  eyes  when  he  got  back  to 
Bluff  City. 

Brother  Slaten  did  not  return  to  the  field  that  afternoon, 
and  when  the  hired  man  with  his  team  had  done  so,  Parson 
Flint  and  the  farmer  sat  in  the  cool  sitting-room,  entering  upon 
a  long  discussion  of  the  never  failing  topic  of  war. 

In  the  meantime  William  took  a  seat  upon  the  back-stoop, 
and  set  about  several  experiments  with  a  hawk's  foot.  He  tried 
it  on  a  chip,  a  bone  and  broom-handle,  testing  its  powerful 
gripping  qualities  thoroughly.  After  awhile  a  lubberly,  half- 
grown  pup  came  mooning  around  the  corner  of  the  kitchen, 
carrying  an  old  shoe  in  its  mouth.  Upon  seeing  William  he 
dropped  the  shoe,  and  crawling  apologetically  up  the  steps, 
lay  down  near  by  and  began  to  wallow  about  on  his  back. 

The  opportunity  was  too  good  to  be  resisted;  William 
reached  out  with  his  hawk's  foot  and  gently  took  the  pup  by 
one  ear.  With  a  whoop  and  start  the  animal  tried  to  scramble 
up,  but  fell  off  the  edge  of  the  porch,  went  thumping  down 
the  steps  and  ran  as  if  calamity  were  hot  on  his  heels.  William 
laughed  softly  at  his  antics,  but  felt  sorry  for  the  brute,  so 


280  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

coaxed  him  back  and  soon  soothed  all  his  alarms,  and  made 
great  friends  with  him. 

While  he  was  petting  the  animal  Mrs.  Slaten  came  to  the 
door  of  the  kitchen  and  said : 

"Why  don't  ye  look  around,  my  son?  There's  lots  of 
things  to  see,  and  mebbe  ye  might  find  some  eggs  for  me  in  the 
barn." 

This  promised  well.  What  healthy,  normal  boy  does  n't 
feel  at  home  in  a  barn?  Followed  by  the  now  reassured  pup, 
William  set  off  on  a  tour  of  exploration. 

Farmer  Slaten  was  very  well-to-do,  and  in  his  sheds  were 
many  pieces  of  machinery  that  greatly  interested  William. 
His  attention  was  presently  attracted  to  an  old-fashioned  fan- 
ning-mill,  used  to  separate  chaff  from  wheat.  He  looked  it 
over,  and  concluded  to  see  if  he  could  turn  the  fan;  but 
at  the  first  revolution  an  old  setting  hen  flew  out  with  a 
shriek  and  clatter,  and  William  thought  it  best  to  abandon 
his  efforts. 

Next  he  went  into  the  barn,  wandering  in  and  out  of  the 
empty  stalls.  When  he  reached  the  one  next  to  which  Daniel 
was  quartered,  he  found  a  plank  off  the  partition  through  which 
the  old  horse  could  be  seen,  sagged  down  on  three  legs,  the 
hoof  of  his  fourth  barely  touching  the  ground,  taking  an  after 
dinner  nap.  His  flank  was  within  a  foot  of  the  opening,  and 
William  reached  in  to  wake  him  up  with  a  hawk's  foot.  The 
experiment  was  instantly  successful.  Upon  feeling  the  claws 
nip  him,  Daniel  became  very  much  awake,  promptly  launch- 
ing out  with  both  hind  feet,  and  hitting  the  partition  with  a 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      281 

bang  that  sounded  like  thunder.  William's  tow  hair  stirred; 
he  fancied  the  noise  could  be  heard  half-way  to  Bluff  City,  and 
was  sure  the  Parson  must  have  been  aroused  by  it.  Tip-toeing 
to  the  barn-door  he  peeped  out  to  see,  but  no  one  appearing, 
he  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  went  back  to  reassure  the  in- 
dignant horse. 

But  Daniel,  suspicious  by  nature,  had  become  more  so 
through  experience,  and  was  not  easily  mollified.  He  stood 
back  at  the  end  of  his  halter,  blowing  out  his  nostrils  and 
watching  the  persuasive  William  with  most  knowing  eyes,  as 
if  sure  he  had  some  new  instrument  of  torture  to  use.  Not 
until  the  boy  got  him  an  extra  ear  of  corn  and  went  away  did 
Daniel  finally  resume  his  usual  state  of  nerves. 

William  now  climbed  into  the  haymow  and  looked  about; 
but  the  place  was  so  dark  and  spooky  that  he  didn't  remain 
long.  Returning  to  the  lower  floor,  he  set  out  to  examine 
every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  place;  but  until  he  reached  the 
corncrib  there  was  nothing  particularly  interesting  to  be  seen. 
In  the  corn-bin,  however,  he  came  upon  an  unexpected  treas- 
ure. Hanging  to  a  nail  by  a  length  of  chain  was  an  old  steel- 
trap.  In  his  variegated  career  William  had  seen  one  or  two 
of  these  hard-biting  machines,  and  he  uttered  a  grunt  of  satis- 
faction at  having  found  one  he  could  examine  at  his  leisure. 
He  carried  it  to  the  barn  door  and  sat  down  on  a  little  pile 
of  hay  to  look  the  thing  over.  Its  spring  was  not  very  strong, 
so  that  he  found  no  trouble  in  setting  the  trap.  He  tried  it 
many  times,  springing  the  catch  with  a  stick,  and  starting 
slightly  every  time  it  snapped.  Once  it  nipped  his  fingers,  but 


282  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

upon  pressing  down  the  spring  with  his  foot,  he  found  that 
little  damage  had  been  done  them. 

Meantime  the  pup  had  been  tagging  at  his  heels;  and  when 
William  sat  down  to  play  with  the  steel-trap,  the  contented 
animal  stretched  himself  out  near  by  and  began  again  his  fav- 
orite pastime  of  wriggling  about  on  his  back.  The  exercise 
seemed  very  comforting,  and  in  his  contortions  he  worked  his 
way  up  close  to  William,  and  squirmed  about  as  if  a  score  of 
lusty  fleas  were  nibbling  his  hide. 

Never  in  all  his  life  afterwards  could  William  tell  what 
made  him  so  careless,  but  he  laid  the  steel-trap  down  by  his 
side,  and  watched  the  kicking  pup  with  a  half-drowsy  feeling, 
in  which  he  began  to  wonder  what  Nathan  was  doing,  and 
when  his  mother  would  get  home. 

As  in  a  dream  he  saw  the  flea-bitten  pup  squirm  about 
slapping  his  tail  here  and  there,  utterly  unconscious  of  danger. 
But  presently  the  day-dreaming  youth  came  out  of  his  trance 
with  a  sick  start  of  terror.  The  wriggling  animal  had  man- 
aged to  drop  his  threshing  tail  right  into  the  jaws  of  the  open 
trap,  and  they  closed  upon  the  member  like  the  mandibles  of 
a  turtle! 

The  instant  this  awful  catastrophe  happened  William 
foresaw  the  consequences,  and  made  a  frantic  grab  for  the 
trap,  but  he  was  one  second  too  late.  With  a  screech  and 
whirl  the  pup  was  on  his  feet,  scared  silly,  and  wild  with  the 
sudden  torment  at  his  tail.  He  dived  through  the  open  door 
and  started  for  the  house,  making  the  air  shiver  with  shrill 
yelpings  that  woke  up  the  entire  neighborhood. 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      283 

As  the  fleeing  pup  swept  like  a  vocal  cyclone  up  the  home- 
stretch everything  scattered  before  him;  the  hens  squawked, 
the  geese  screamed  and  an  old  turkey-cock  began  to  gobble 
frantically.  Then  three  other  dogs  that  had  been  sleeping 
somewhere  rushed  out  barking,  and  all  took  after  their 
screaming  companion  as  he  strove  to  flee  from  the  wrath 
to  come. 

"Wahhh-ee,  wahhh-ee,  wahhh-ee!"  shrieked  the  distracted 
victim,  not  knowing  exactly  where  he  aimed  to  go,  but  seek- 
ing only  to  put  distance  between  himself  and  the  nipping  jaws 
that  held  him  fast! 

No  sooner  had  the  terrible  din  been  heard  than  of  course 
the  Parson,  Brother  Slaten  and  his  wife  ran  out  to  see  what 
on  earth  had  happened.  By  this  time  the  crazy  pup  was  racing 
round  and  round  the  house,  while  all  the  other  dogs  were  hot 
after  him,  adding  to  his  frightful  clamor  by  their  own  excited 
barks  and  howls. 

But  the  Parson,  wise  from  long  experience,  instantly  saw 
what  had  occurred;  and  as  the  flying  pup  swept  by  him,  he 
snatched  at  the  animal,  missing  him  as  William  had,  and  then 
bracing  himself  up  for  the  next  heat. 

In  his  unspeakable  frenzy,  the  frightened  animal  had  be- 
thought himself  of  a  hole  under  the  house  where  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  crawl  away  out  of  the  heat  to  sleep.  As  he  came 
round  again  and  made  a  dive  for  this  place  of  refuge,  the 
Parson  succeeded  in  heading  him  off,  caught  him  by  the  scruff 
of  the  neck  and  quickly  removed  the  trap  from  his  tail.  Then 
the  relieved  brute  plunged  into  the  hole  and  disappeared  for 


284 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


the  rest  of  the  evening,  while  the  other  dogs  slunk  away  as 
if  ashamed  of  their  unseemly  behavior. 

By  this  time  the  surprise  of  the  incident  had  gone,  and 
the  funny  side  of  it  struck  Brother  Slaven;  he  threw  back  his 
shaggy  head  and  roared  with  laughter,  while  his  wife's  fat 
sides  were  shaking.  But  there  was  no  glimmer  of  mirth  on  the 
Parson's  outraged  face.  He  laid  the  trap  down,  strode  to  a 
small  apple-tree  and  jerked  off  a  long,  keen  switch.  Strip- 
ping the  leaves  from  it  through  his  hand,  he  called  in  a  sav- 
agely menacing  voice: 

"William,  come  here!" 

Utterly  overcome  by  the  swift  tragedy  of  the  affair,  Wil- 
liam was  fairly  shaking  with  grief  and  shame,  being  far  more 
frightened  than  the  loud-voiced  pup  had  been.  When  this  ter- 
rible summons  to  judgment  fell  upon  his  burning  ears,  all  his 
heart  seemed  to  break  at  once.  He  dragged  his  feet  slowly 
forward  until  near  the  vengeful  Parson,  and  then  halting  in 
a  very  climax  of  despair,  he  broke  out  into  a  wail  of  grief, 
calling  aloud  in  some  strange  impulse: 

"Oh,  mother,  mother!  where  are  you?  I  didn't  go  to 
hurt  the  dog;  I  would  n't  a-done  it  for  anything,  if  I  'd 
a-knowed  it!" 

And  so  bitter  and  beseeching  was  his  sorrowful  wail 
that  the  laugh  suddenly  drained  out  of  Sister  Slaten's 
face,  while  the  hot  tears  stung  her  kindly  eyes.  She  hur- 
ried up  to  William,  threw  her  apron  over  his  head  and 
squeezed  him  tight,  while  he  clung  to  her  desperately, 
burrowing  his  tow  head  into  her  fat,  motherly  stomach. 


THREW   HER   APROV   OVER 
His  HE\D. 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      285 

"I  wouldn't  whip  the  boy,  Parson,"  exclaimed  Brother 
Slaten  at  this.  "He  did  n't  mean  any  harm.  Boys  do  n't  think 
like  grown  up  folks,  and  besides  the  onery  pup  is  a  nuisance. 
It  '11  do  him  good  to  git  a  scare  and  take  some  exercise.  He  's 
no  good  on  earth."  And  again  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter 
as  the  vision  of  the  circus  came  back  to  him  afresh. 

Thus  adjured  the  Parson  hesitated  for  a  few  moments; 
and  then  with  a  look  of  great  disgust  at  William  threw  away 
the  switch  and  said: 

"He  ought  to  know  better,  Brother  Slaten,  for  I  Ve  tried 
to  raise  him  decently.  'Foolishness  is  bound  in  the  heart  of 
a  child,  but  the  rod  of  correction  shall  drive  it  far  from  him.' 
I  ain't  sure  that  I  'm  doin'  my  duty  by  lettin'  him  off  without 
a  good  larrupin'." 

With  this  apology  to  his  own  conscience  he  went  back  into 
the  house,  followed  by  Brother  Slaten.  But  the  good  wife  took 
William  with  her  around  to  the  kitchen,  where  with  many  re- 
morseful sobs  he  told  her  the  story  of  the  pup,  and  she  talked 
soothingly,  comforting  him  until  his  grief  somewhat  subsided. 
Then  the  two  took  a  long  walk  about  the  place  together,  and 
in  every  way  possible  Mrs.  Slaten  tried  to  make  him  forget  his 
bitter  humiliation. 

In  spite  of  all  she  could  do,  however,  there  still  lurked 
in  William's  soul  a  dread  anticipation  of  the  judgment  to  come. 
He  knew  the  Parson  well,  and  felt  sure  the  matter  would  come 
up  against  him  later.  What  the  end  would  be  he  did  not 
know. 

That  night,  long  after  the  Parson  was  sound  asleep,  Wil- 


286 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


liam  lay  awake,  so  restless  and  homesick  that  it  gave  him  the 
heart-burn.  He  snuffled  to  himself  and  watered  his  couch  with 
his  tears.  Finally  crawling  quietly  out  of  his  cot,  he  felt  about 
in  the  darkness  for  his  clothing.  Then  after  much  fumbling 
through  the  pockets  of  his  round-about,  he  seemed  to  find  what 
he  wanted,  and  crept  back  to  bed,  falling  asleep  at  last  with 
the  object  of  his  search  hugged  close  to  his  heart.  It  was  a 
long  gray  stocking,  with  a  tiny  hole  in  the  toe.  Before  leav- 
ing home,  he  had  slipped  upstairs  and  taken  it  off  his  mother's 
workbasket,  where  she  had  laid  it  to  mend,  "to  remember 
her  by." 

At  half-past  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  all  the  people 
on  the  farm  went  to  church,  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  house.  It  was  a  beautiful  day,  and  already  quite  a 
crowd  of  people  had  reached  the  spot  ahead  of  them.  Most 
of  the  women  had  gone  into  the  church,  but  the  men  sat  about 
on  logs,  or  the  wagon-seats,  talking  over  the  events  of  the  week. 
Farmer  Slaten  was  heartily  welcomed  by  everybody,  and  he 
soom  made  William  acquainted  with  several  of  the  country- 
boys  about  his  own  age,  with  whom  he  quickly  got  on  very 
friendly  terms. 

With  one  eye  out  for  the  Parson,  who  was  conversing  with 
a  little  group  of  parishioners,  William  slipped 
away,  took  three  or  four  of  his  new  friends  around 
back  of  the  church,  and  proceeded  to  show  them 
his  hawk's  feet,  giving  an  exhibition  of  how  they 
worked,  and  telling  what  he  should  do  to  one  of 
his  school-mates  when  he  got  home. 


SHOWED  THEM   His   HAWK'S   FOOT. 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      287 

His  auditors  of  course  grew  deeply  interested,  and  in  a 
little  time  one  of  them  proposed  to  swap  a  couple  of  ounces 
of  large  shot  for  one  of  the  hawk's  feet.  Having  two  of  them, 
William  agreed  to  this  trade,  and  it  was  quickly  consummated. 
Then  having  nothing  to  contain  the  shot,  he  finally  put  them 
into  the  stocking  which  had  so  comforted  his  lonely  hours  the 
night  previous.  No  sooner  had  he  tucked  them  away  in  his 
pocket,  however,  than  Parson  Flint  stepped  around  the  corner, 
and  when  he  saw  William's  occupation,  looked  at  him  in  solemn 
rebuke.  The  abashed  youth  hastily  thrust  the  remaining  hawk's 
foot  into  his  pocket,  and  at  a  backward  nod  from  the  Apostle, 
followed  him  meekly  around  to  the  front,  and  into  the  build- 
ing. In  order  to  keep  the  wayward  youth  under  his  eye,  the 
Parson  marched  him  up  to  the  pulpit,  and  seated  him  upon 
a  bench  near  the  altar  rail. 

Then  the  services  were  opened.  The  interior  of  the  build- 
ing was  oppressively  warm,  and  as  the  sermon  progressed  Wil- 
liam grew  very  drowsy  and  uncomfortable;  the  bench  was 
hard,  and  so  high  that  only  the  tips  of 'his  toes  reached  the 
floor.  It  had  no  back,  either,  and  the  restless  victim  could 
assume  no  position  that  would  ease  him. 

For  some  time  he  amused  himself  by  looking  over  the 
congregation,  and  when  this  ceased  to  be  interesting,  he  tried 
to  pass  away  the  time  by  watching  two  flies  that  sailed  back 
and  forth  in  the  air  above  his  head,  playfully  butting  each  other 
as  they  met. 

To  sit  still  for  any  great  length  of  time,  and  especially 
in  hot  weather,  is  certain  to  make  any  ordinary  boy  itch  intol- 


288  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

erably;  and  William  was  not  an  exception  to  this  rule.  He 
squirmed  about,  relieving  first  one  tickling  spot  and  then  an- 
other; finally,  as  the  perspiration  had  gathered  on  his  freckled 
nose,  he  reached  absent-mindedly  into  a  pocket  after  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

Alas!  Instead  of  that  useful  piece  of  linen,  he  drew  out 
the  stocking  with  the  shot  instead.  He  had  forgotten  all  about 
it,  and  never  knew  that  it  had  a  hole  in  the  toe!  The  shot 
streamed  through  this  hole  and  fell  upon  the  floor  with  a  clatter 
that  could  be  heard  all  over  the  church.  Aroused  by  the  strange 
racket,  the  drowsy  congregation  stirred  curiously  and  -craned 
their  necks  to  see  what  was  happening.  William  sat  as  if  par- 
alyzed ;  but  the  Parson  paused  in  his  vociferous  sermon,  fixed 
a  lurid  eye  on  William  and  said  in  his  most  sepulchral  tone: 

"William,  leave  the  room!" 

Then  with  white  face,  knees  knocking  together  and  his 
heart  trying  to  get  out  of  his  mouth,  William  rose  blindly  up 
and  staggered  down  the  aisle,  thinking  it  must  be  a  mile  in 
length.  But  at  last  he  reached  the  door,  and  with  face  work- 
ing, hands  clenched  and  a  sense  of  overwhelming  calamity  in 
his  breast,  he  picked  up  his  heels  and  flew  like  a  wild  thing 
down  the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  farm.  He  knew  the  way 
and  ran  until  his  breath  gave  out;  reaching  Brother  Slaten's 
in  a  reek  of  sweat  and  almost  in  a  state  of  collapse,  he  went  into 
the  barn  and  hid  in  a  stall,  wondering  in  his  daze  what  on 
earth  would  happen  to  him  next. 

When  the  services  were  over  and  the  congregation  was 
dismissed,  a  man  who  had  gone  out  ahead  of  William  to  look 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      289 

after  his  team  told  the  anxious  Brother  Slaten  what  direction 
the  boy  had  taken,  and  of  course  it  was  at  once  surmised  that 
the  fugitive  had  gone  back  to  the  farm.  The  family  returned 
and  when  the  Parson  found  that  William  was  safe,  his  face 
set  and  he  said  never  a  word.  To  William  this  ominous  silence 
meant  far  more  than  appeared  to  Brother  Slaten  and  his  good- 
hearted  wife. 

When  time  for  the  evening  service  arrived,  Brother  Slaten 
and  the  Parson  went  to  church  alone.  Mrs.  Slaten  said  she 
would  remain  at  home  and  keep  William  with  her  for  com- 
pany. This  lifted  a  great  load  off  the  boy's  mind;  for  he  felt 
certain  that  everyone  would  stare  at  him  and  wonder  what  kind 
of  an  animal  had  come  among  them. 

Sister  Slaten  was  as  loving  as  she  was  big;  and  when 
alone  with  the  depressed  urchin  she  began  to  talk  cheer- 
fully to  him,  finally  drawing  from  him  the  entire  story  of 
his  mishap. 

"Ye  see  I  swopped  one  of  them  hawk's  feet  fer  some  shot," 
he  blubbered  between  his  sobs,  "an'  I  did  n't  have  any  paper 
to  wrap  'em  up  in,  so  I  hed  to  put  'em  in  this  here  stockin'," 
drawing  it  out  of  his  pocket.  "I  did  n't  know  there  wuz 
any  hole  in  it;  I  went  to  git  out  my  handkerchief,  and  mis- 
took the  stockin'  fer  it,  and  the  shot  run  out  of  this  yere  hole 
in  the  toe." 

The  memory  of  his  mother  the  article  awoke  in  his  heart, 
mixed  with  the  recollection  of  his  awful  mishap  entirely  over- 
came him,  and  he  fairly  choked  in  his  unbearable  grief.  Mrs. 
Slaten  listened  with  amused  sympathy:  finally  she  reached  over 


290 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


"WHY,   MY   Sox,   WHAT 
Is  THIS?" 


and  took  the  article  out  of  William's  hands,  and  unrolled  it  full 
length  with  an  expression  of  intense  astonishment: 

"Why,  my  son,  what  is  this,  and  where  on  earth  did  you 
get  it?"  she  asked 

"It 's  one  of  ma's  stockin's," 
sobbed  William  bitterly.  "I  went 
an'  got  it  out  of  her  work-basket 
to  remember  her  by." 

Suddenly    Sister   Slaten 
reached  out  her  great  arms   and 
snatched   William    into    her    lap. 
First  she  laughed,   and  then  she 
cried;  and  all   the  time  she  was 
nearly    squeezing    the    breath 
out   of   him,   patting  his   back  and   kissing  him 
furiously,    taking    on    in    a    manner    wonderful 
to  see. 

"You  pore  lonesome  child!"  she  at  last  exclaimed  with  a 
catch  in  her  voice.  Then  she  set  to  work  to  soothe  his  sore 
heart,  telling  him  stories  about  her  own  boy  that  had  gone  to 
the  war.  Occasionally  she  interrupted  her  narratives  by  hug- 
ging her  interested  auditor  close  and  kissing  him  with  a  tender 
violence  that  made  William  wink. 

Finally  when  it  came  time  for  him  to  go  to  bed,  she  knelt 
down  to  pray,  and  William  knelt  comfortably  by  her.  Thus 
holding  him  to  her  motherly  bosom  with -loving  arms,  she 
prayed  so  earnestly  and  sweetly  that  a  great  peace  stole  over 
the  lonely  boy's  heart;  and  he  felt  that  if  he  did  n't  already  have 


WILLIAM  TREADS  IN  THORNY  WAYS.      291 

the  dearest  mother  in  the  world,  his  next  choice  for  that  rela- 
tive would  be  Sister  Slaten. 

The  good  woman's  motherly  talk  and  sympathy  brought 
a  great  rest  to  William's  strained  nerves,  and  by  the  time  Par- 
son Flint  and  his  parishioner  got  back  from  church,  all  the 
boy's  troubles  had  been  swept  from  his  mind  by  the  soft  wings 
of  slumber. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning  the  Parson 
hitched  Daniel  to  the  buggy  and  got  ready  to  go  home.  Mrs. 
Slaten  gave  William  a  peck  of  luscious  Bellflower  apples,  for 
himself,  and  sent  along  two  fine,  fat  chickens  as  a  present  for 
Mrs.  Flint.  William  parted  from  the  farmer's  wife  with  a 
hearty  hug  and  kiss. 

For  a  long  time  during  the  homeward  journey  Parson 
Flint  maintained  a  dismal  silence,  and  seemed  to  be  wrapped 
in  the  maze  of  his  own  gloomy  thoughts.  At  times  he  would 
heave  a  deep  groan  or  sigh,  as  if  the  burden  of  the  world  lay 
heavily  upon  his  shoulders.  Once  or  twice  William  ventured 
a  few  timid  questions,  seeking  to  find  what  manner  of  temper 
the  Apostle  was  in;  but  receiving  only  short  answers  or  more 
often  none  at  all,  he  finally  gave  up  his  attempts  and  sat  in 
a  greatly  depressed  state  of  mind,  wondering  what  more  could 
possibly  happen  to  him. 

Presently  he  found  out.  About  two  miles  from  town,  in 
a  place  where  a  long  stretch  of  straight  road  showed  no  one 
in  sight,  the  Parson  drove  Daniel  out  to  one  side  of  the  high- 
way, tied  him  to  a  tree,  and  ordered  William  to  get  out  of  the 
carriage  and  follow  him.  Then  he  took  his  knife  and  cut  a 


292  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

long  hickory  sprout.  When  the  Parson  had  directed  William 
to  come  with  him,  the  boy  thought  his  father  was  halting  for 
one  of  his  numerous  seasons  of  prayer,  but  the  familiar  rod  of 
correction  quickly  undeceived  him.  Without  any  prelimina- 
ries or  useless  explanations,  the  Apostle  at  once  began  to  ad- 
minister to  William  a  liberal  dose  of  Solomon's  remedy  for 
"foolishness,"  after  which  his  comments  were  very  few. 

During  this  hearty  exercise  William  did  a  ghost-dance  in 
the  dead  leaves  which  rivaled  that  of  the  great  Pau-puk-keewis 
described  in  Longfellow's  Hiawatha.  And  at  the  same  time 
the  penitent  youth  was  proclaiming  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with 
every  degree  of  emphasis  that  he  would  ever  afterwards  lead 
a  different  life.  When  the  Parson  had  completed  his  familiar 
task  he  said: 

"Now,  take  that  hawk's  foot  out  of  yer  pocket  and  throw 
it  away;  and  see  if  ye '11  ever  be  caught  disgracin'  me  when 
I  take  ye  anywhere  again." 

With  this  admonition  he  turned  to  retrace  his  steps,  not 
presuming  that  after  what  had  happened,  William  would  dream 
of  disobeying.  But  that  weeping  youth  took  from  his  pocket, 
and  threw  away  with  a  great  clatter  among  the  dead  leaves 
to  deceive  his  father —  a  ten-penny  nail! 

That  hawk's  foot  was  the  one  compensation  he  had  left 
for  the  terror  and  misery  of  the  past  two  days.  He  just  could  n't 
part  with  it. 


"SAW  NATHAN 
COMING." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


THE    LAST    STRAW. 


WHEN  the  Parson  and  his  chastened  offspring  reached  Bluff 
City  it  was  nearly  noon.  Daniel  was  stabled,  and  by  the  time 
William  had  put  off  his  Sunday  attire  and  donned  his  every- 
day clothes,  the  school-bell  rang  taps  for  dismissal.  During 
the  afternoon  a  mass  meeting  of  the  citizens  was  to  be  held  in 
the  school-building.  Mr.  Leckrone  and  the  Parson  were  ex- 
pected to  address  the  gathering,  so  there  was  a  half- 
holiday. 

William  was  on  the  lookout,  and  in  ?  short  time  he  saw 
Nathan  coming  home.  But  he  was  not  returning  in  a  direct 
line  as  usual.  For  some  mysterious  reason  he  took  a  roundabout 
way,  evidently  making  for  the  barn.  Upon  meeting  him,  Wil- 
liam was  astonished  to  find  his  brother's  coat  split  up  the  back, 
his  face  a  stormy  red  with  swollen  eyes,  and  an  appearance  very 
much  dilapidated  in  general. 

Nathan  was  not  inclined  to  talk  much,  and  occasionally 

293 


294  THE  PERSON'S  BOYS. 

looked  with  apprehensive  eye  toward  the  school-house.  After 
a  few  hurried  questions  to  which  he  got  little  reply,  William 
also  gazed  in  the  direction  Nathan  was  looking,  certain  that 
something  untoward  was  about  to  happen,  and  very  anxious 
to  know  what  it  was. 

In  a  little  time  Mr.  Leckrone  was  seen  to  come  from  the 
school-house  and  walk  with  rapid  strides  toward  the  parson- 
age, evidently  bent  upon  some  important  mission  to  the  Apos- 
tle. As  he  entered  the  gate,  Nathan  shook  a  vengeful  fist  at 
him,  and  then  suddenly  turned  more  gloomy  than  ever.  But 
full  of  his  own  woes,  William  began  a  bitter  recital  of  the 
incidents  of  his  trip  already  related,  and  tearfully  exhibited 
his  hawk's  foot;  yet  interesting  as  it  all  might  have  been  under 
other  conditions,  just  then  neither  boy  was  in  a  state  of  mind 
to  dwell  upon  such  past  history. 

"What 's  'e  come  for?"  asked  William  finally,  referring  to 
the  strange  visit  of  Mr.  Leckrone. 

Then  Nathan's  story  came  out,  and  William  found  that 
he  was  not  the  only  one  who  had  cause  for  grief. 

It  seemed  that  on  his  way  to  school  that  morning,  Nathan 
had  passed  a  neighbor's  premises,  and  found  a  small,  dead  pig 
which  had  died  during  the  night,  and  been  tossed  over  the 
barn-yard  fence.  Boy-like  he  stopped  to  examine  the  dead 
porker;  and  finally  in  obedience  to  some  vagrant  impulse  tied 
a  string  around  the  animal's  neck  and  carried  it  with  him  to 
the  school-grounds. 

Here  he  and  his  odd  play-thing  were  received  with  shouts 
of  laughter,  and  for  several  minutes  the  rollicking  scholars 


THE  LAST  STRAW.  29$ 

amused  themselves  by  throwing  the  pig  at  each  other  until  it 
was  a  bunch  of  broken  bones.  Finally  tiring  of  this  rude  sport, 
Nathan  had  flung  the  carcass  aside  and  forgot  all  about  it; 
but  later  it  caused  him  trouble. 

Mr.  Leckrone  scarcely  ever  reached  school  until  the  last 
bell  rang,  and  never  entered  his  room  until  he  had  seen  all  the 
scholars  file  before  him  on  their  way  in.  This  morning  he 
was  a  trifle  later  than  usual,  probably  being  engaged  on  the 
speech  he  was  to  make  that  afternoon. 

Behind  the  platform  on  which  he  sat  during  school  hours 
was  a  small  black-board,  and  above  this  was  a  hook  upon  which 
he  always  hung  his  hat.  When  the  school  was  seated,  it  was 
seen  that  a  sheet  of  newspaper  hung  from  the  hook,  covering 
half  the  board.  Mr.  Leckrone  strode  to  his  place  upon  the  plat- 
form, and  jerked  down  the  paper.  Then  a  great  gust  of  laughter 
broke  out  in  the  room;  for  there,  hanging  to  the  hook  by  its 
string  was  the  pig,  and  underneath  it,  scrawled  in  mis-spelled 
words  was  the  legend: 

"Lectroon's  diner." 

Now  the  teacher  was  not  at  anytime  a  man  noted  for  his 
self-control.  His  temper  was  quick  and  fiery,  and  in  moments 
of  excitement  or  sufficient  provocation  he  would  act  very  in- 
considerately. When  he  grasped  the  meaning  of  the  trick 
played  upon  him,  he  whirled  upon  the  scholars  with  face  black 
as  a  thunder-cloud,  and  in  a  voice  that  rang  threateningly 
through  the  room  asked: 

"Who  put  this  pig  here?" 

But  of  course  the  miscreant  was  a  coward,  and  no  one  re- 


296 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


sponded  to  the  pointed  question.     Next  time  it  was   altered 
slightly: 

"Who  brought  this  animal  here?" 

One  of  the  smaller  boys,  who 
was  always  ready  to  tell  tales, 
raised  his  right  hand;— 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Leek- 
rone  savagely. 

"Nathan  Flint  brought  the 
pig,"  was  the  reply. 

"Nathan  Flint,"  demanded 
the  teacher,  "did  you  bring  this 
beast  here  and  hang  it  up  behind 
my  desk?" 

"No  sir!"  bawled  Nathan  indignantly. 
"I  brought  the  pig  to  the  school-grounds, 
but  I  never  hung  it  up  there." 
Much   as   he  would  have  liked   to   find   the   offender,    it 
seemed  to  dawn  upon  the  teacher's  mind  that  he  would  fail 
to  do  so.     And   after  Nathan's  positive  denial,  he  said  sur- 
lily: 

"Well,  as  you  brought  the  vile  thing  to  the  grounds,  come 
and  take  it  down,  and  throw  it  out  of  the  window." 

But  this  did  not  at  all  please  Nathan.  Conscious  of  his 
entire  innocence  in  the  matter,  he  had  no  mind  to  be  made  a 
laughing-stock  for  the  entire  school  by  obeying  such  a  humili- 
ating command;  so  he  settled  down  in  his  seat,  frowned  resent- 
fully and  did  not  move. 


'Wno  PUT  THIS  PIG  HERE?" 


THE  LAST  STRAW.  297 

"Did  you  hear  what  I  said?"  demanded  Mr.  Leckrone 
sharply. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  did,"  rejoined  Nathan  in  a  much  louder  tone 
than  was  polite  or  necessary;  "but- 1  didn't  put  the  pig  there, 
and  I  ain't  goin'  to  take  the  nasty  thing  down." 

For  a  moment  the  teacher  was  dumfounded.  The  reply 
was  so  utterly  contrary  to  Nathan's  usually  obedient  habits  that 
he  could  hardly  believe  what  he  heard.  However,  such  im- 
pudent obstinacy  only  added  to  the  flare  of  his  temper.  He 
snatched  a  tough  hickory  lying  handy,  strode  from  the  plat- 
form and  seized  Nathan  by  the  collar.  But  the  boy  clung 
tightly  to  his  seat,  and  not  until  Mr.  Leckrone  had  put  the  rod 
between  his  teeth  and  used  both  hands  to  break  his  grip  did 
he  succeed  by  lifting  the  culprit  into  an  aisle  between  the  rows 
of  benches.  Then  snatching  his  rod  again,  he  began  to  dust 
Nathan's  jacket  at  a  tremendous  rate. 

But  the  boy  was  not  idle;  he  squirmed  about  and  made 
a  grab  for  his  chastiser's  person.  His  curved  fingers  caught  in 
the  waistband  of  Mr.  Leckrone's  trousers,  and  as  the  irate 
teacher  kicked  his  victim's  feet  from  under  him,  Nathan  came 
down  throwing  his  whole  weight  upon  the  article  he  had  seized. 
There  was  a  sound  of  ripping  cloth  and  flying  buttons,  and 
the  result  came  near  being  as  humiliating  to  the  teacher  as 
to  Nathan.  However,  the  boy's  hands  were  torn  loose,  and  he 
was  thrown  face  downward  over  a  desk  and  fanned  with  all 
the  strength  of  Mr.  Leckrone's  good  right  arm. 

By  this  time  the  school  was  in  an  uproar;  the  girls  were 
crying  loudly,  and  mutiny  was  hot  in  the  air.  Just  as  some 


298  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

of  the  big  boys  were  about  to  make  a  rush  and  rescue  Nathan, 
the  teacher  jerked  him  to  his  feet,  slammed  him  into  a  seat, 
and  said  between  his  angry  gasps  for  breath: 

"Now,  see  that  you  do  n't  give  me  any  more  back  talk, 
and  do  as  I  tell  you  next  time,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you." 

But  despite  this  admonition  he  seemed  to  realize  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  carry  his  commands  any  further  just  then; 
so  after  rearranging  his  disordered  clothing,  he  took  the  pig 
down,  threw  it  out  of  a  window  and  sat  behind  his  desk  very 
pale  and  much  exhausted  by  the  reaction  from  his  anger  and 
exercise. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  proceeded  with  the  school 
routine,  and  as  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  he  saw  Nathan  sitting 
with  clouded  face,  knuckling  the  hot,  angry  tears  from  his  eyes, 
there  came  an  uneasy  conviction  that  he  had  gone  too  far  in 
the  matter.  In  his  mind  there  arose  an  important  question; 
what  would  the  Parson  think  of  it? 

Nathan,  too,  had  been  putting  this  inquiry  to  his  own 
thoughts;  but  no  doubt  of  what  the  Parson  was  likely  to  do 
troubled  him;  his  numerous  experiences  on  other  occasions 
settled  the  question  for  him. 

By  the  time  Nathan  had  briefly  sketched  these  incidents, 
William  had  entirely  forgotten  his  own  troubles,  and  his  eyes 
stuck  out  in  admiration  for  his  reckless  brother  and  fear  of 
what  was  to  follow.  He  summed  all  his  feelings  up  in  one 
significant  question: 

"What  d'ye  think  pa '11  do?" 

''What  does  he  always   do?"   returned  Nathan  gloomily. 


THE  LAST  STRAW.  299 

"I  never  done  anything  wrong,  but  that  won't  make  no  dif- 
ference." 

"You  stay  here,"  exclaimed  "William  eagerly,  "and  I  '11 
go  to  the  house  and  see  what  I  kin  find  out!" 

With  this  he  set  off  on  a  run,  arriving  in  time  to  see  the 
satisfied  Mr.  Leckrone  depart,  and  hear  the  Parson  say  dog- 
gedly: 

"Ye  did  jist  right,  Mr.  Leckrone,  and  I  '11  tend  to  his  case. 
I  believe  in  meckin'  boys  behave  theirselves.  If  Nathan  cuts 
up  any  more  sich  shines  send  him  to  me,  and  I  '11  dress  him 
down  ag'in  after  you  Ve  done  with  him." 

This  was  enough  for  William.  He  hastened  back  to  the 
barn  and  told  Nathan  all  he  had  heard.  Both  the  boys  remem- 
bered that  in  his  firm  determination  to  carry  out  discipline, 
the  Apostle  had  sternly  said  he  would  duplicate  any  punish- 
ment they  received  at  school  with  another  and  harder  one  at 
home;  and  experience  had  assured  them  that  such  promises 
on  the  Parson's  part  were  always  sacredly  fulfilled. 

"Whachu  goin'  to  do?"  asked  William  nervously. 

"I  'm  a-goin'  to  hide  till  he  gits  off  down  town,"  said  Na- 
than, after  a  moment's  hard  thinking. 

Then  without  stopping  to  think  how  foolish  this  trick  would 
be,  both  the  boys  climbed  into  the  barn-loft,  and  burrowed 
under  the  hay,  on  the  side  next  the  parsonage,  so  that  they 
could  see  anything  that  transpired  through  a  crack  in  the 
boarding. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Parson  issued  from  the  kitchen 
door  and  made  for  the  barn,  holding  a  tremendous  hickory  in 


300 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


his  fist.  He  strode  into  the  stable,  looked  all  about  and  called 
the  hiding  urchins  several  times;  but  they  lay  breathless,  and 
finally  concluding  that  they  were  not  there,  the  Parson  re- 
turned to  the  parsonage.  Presently  he  strode  rapidly  out  of 
the  gate  towards  the  school-house,  where  a  group  of  scholars 
could  be  seen  at  play.  Evidently  he  thought  the  boys  had  ag- 
gravated their  case  by  going  to  join  them. 

Seeing  the  enemy  retire,  William  crept  from  his  hiding 
place  and  ran  to  the  kitchen;  he  was  already  quite  hungry,  and 
determined  while  the  opportunity  offered  to  secure  something 
to  stay  his  stomach  during  the  afternoon.  Ruth  met  him  and 
learned  all  that  the  boys  had  done.  Her  hearty  sympathies 
were  with  them;  so  she  furnished  plenty  of  provisions  for  the 
siege,  exhorting  William  to  retreat  at  once,  as  the  Parson  would 
return  quickly  when  he  found  they  were  not  at  school. 

William  acted  upon  this  timely  warning  and  flew  back 
to  the  barn;  but  alas!  he  did  n't  remember  that  the  Parson  was 
a  woodsman  with  a  keen,  far-seeing  eye.  The  returning  avenger 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  fugitive  as  he  shot  into  the  barn.  In- 
stantly the  trick  dawned  upon  him,  and  he  came  back 
hot-foot  with  full  vengeance  in  his 
heart  and  the  formidable  rod  of  cor- 
rection in  his  hand. 

This  time  he  made  straight  for 
the  boys'   ambush.     Opening  the  lot 
gate  he  strode  into  the  barn,  climbed 
up  the  ladder  until  his  head  and  shoulders  were  in 
the  loft  and  called  out  in  his  hardest  voice: 


-• 


DODGED   INTO  THE  BARS. 


THE  LAST  STRAW.  301 

"Young  men,  see  if  ye  kin  crawl  out  from  under  that  hay 
and  come  down  here,  or  I  '11  give  ye  an  extra  dose  that  '11 
warm  the  wax  in  yer  ears." 

Then  the  silly  boys  knew  that  there  was  no  escape.  They 
slowly  obeyed  the  harsh  summons,  and  a  great  load  of  shame 
was  added  to  their  grief  and  dark  prospects. 

When  they  had  reached  the  lower  floor,  the  grim  Parson 
first  selected  Nathan  as  perhaps  the  more  guilty  culprit,  and 
opened  the  exercises  with  all  his  accustomed  zest.  It  might 
be  surmised  that  his  seance  with  William  a  few  hours  before 
had  taken  the  edge  off  his  strength,  but  not  so.  In  the  way  of 
duty  he  had  the  endurance  of  a  martyr,  and  as  this  particular 
occasion  seemed  to  warrant  extra  energy,  he  summoned  all  his 
reserve  forces  and  performed  with  a  vigor  of  arm  and  deter- 
mination of  soul  that  did  him  credit. 

But  as  William  had  already  taken  an  allopathic  dose  of 
the  remedy  for  "foolishness"  that  eventful  morning,  the  part 
he  was  required  to  undergo  was  something  less  than  usual, 
though  quite  enough  to  fulfill  all  Scriptural  demands.  When 
the  Parson  had  completed  the  affair  to  his  satisfaction  he  took 
a  long,  deep  breath  and  said: 

"Now,  ye 'd  jist  as  well  learn  it  fust  as  last;  ye  Ve  got  to 
behave  yerselves;  and  I  '11  see  that  ye  do,  if  I  hev  to  wear  out 
all  the  second-growth  hickory  on  the  hill  out  there!"  Then, 
as  memory  of,  their  impudent  trick  returned  to  his  mind,  he 
gazed  at  them,  overpowering  rebuke  in  his  eyes,  and  remarked, 
"Ye '11  try  to  hide  from  me,  will  ye!" 

That  was  all,  and  surely  enough.     He  did  not  even  feel 


22 


302  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

like  praying  over  them  this  time,  but  walked  away  to  the 
house,  and  soon  went  down  town  to  the  meeting  of  the 
afternoon. 

The  Parson's  punishments  were  always  severe  enough;  but 
although  the  boys  had  this  day  received  double  measure,  their 
bodies  were  less  hurt  than  their  feelings.  Never  had  such  a 
dark  storm  of  revolt  and  recklessness  filled  their  hearts.  They 
climbed  back  into  the  loft  and  lay  down  upon  the  hay,  believ- 
ing that  the  very  limit  of  endurance  had  been  reached;  and 
indeed  their  cups  were  full.  The  fatigue  and  reaction  of 
double  distress  stole  over  them  both;  the  afternoon  was 
warm,  and  presently  deep  sleep  came  to  relax  their  quiver- 
ing nerves. 

For  more  than  two  hours  they  slumbered,  and  then  they 
were  aroused  with  a  start  by  the  voice  of  the  Parson  calling 
them.  Rubbing  their  swollen  eyes,  they  sat  up  wondering  if 
something  else  had  happened  to  bring  them  under  the  frown 
of  his  wrath.  Upon  following  him  out  of  the  barn,  however, 
they  found  that  he  had  saddled  Daniel  and  was  about  to  take 
some  unusual  journey.  Before  mounting  to  ride  away  he  said 
in  a  tone  that  still  rang  with  menace  and  rebuke: 

"I  want  ye  to  git  and  cut  some  wood.  I  'm  goin'  away 
to  be  gone  over  night;  and  do  you  both  stay  at  home  and  tend 
to  your  work.  Do  n't  let  me  hear  of  any  shines  out  of  ye  when 
1  git  back,  or  what  I  Ve  already  given  ye  won't  be  a  circum- 
stance." 

Then   swinging   himself    into   the   saddle    he    rode    away. 


THE  LAST  STRAW.  303 

When  he  had  disappeared  Nathan  sat  down  on  a  log  and  said 

bitterly: 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  stay  here  an'  be  licked  to  death  any  longer." 
"Whachu   goin'   to  do?"   asked  William,   startled  by  his 

words  and  unusual  determination. 

"I  'm  a-goin'  to  run  away;  an'  I  '11  go  to-night!" 
The  last  straw  had  broken  the  camel's  back. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
"TRAMP!  TRAMP!  THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING/* 

IF  anyone  had  charged  Parson  Flint  with  cruelty,  it  would 
have  much  surprised  him,  and  he  would  have  indignantly 
denied  the  accusation.    And  if  his  harsh  treatment  of  the 
boys  had  been  cited  as  proof  of  the  charge,  he  would  have 
all  the  more  repelled  it. 

There  was  but  one  standard  of  conduct  which  he  recog- 
nized, and  that  was  the  Bible.  To  him  "total  depravity"  was 
a  terrible  fact,  and  the  means  of  overcoming  it  seemed  to  his 
mind  perfectly  plain.  As  may  often  be  seen  in  really  sincere 
people,  the  Parson's  convictions  only  served  to  strengthen  and 
confirm  the  naturally  stern  temperament  with  which  he  was 
born.  Having  been  brought  up  by  strict  and  old-fashioned 
parents,  whose  cherished  means  of  reforming  wayward  youth 
was  "the  rod  of  correction,"  he  simply  followed  with  his 
own  offspring  the  ideas  and  manners  inherited  from  his 

forebears. 

» 

In  reality,  however,  there  was  a  very  deep  streak  of  ten- 
derness and  parental  pride  in  his  makeup,  only  it  was  often 
overborne  by  his  all-pervading  sense  of  religious  duty. 

Above  all  his  natural  instincts  towered  his  fervent  relig- 
ious faith,  and  Solomon's  dictates  were  his  sole  authority  in 

3°4 


THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING.  305 

matters  of  family  discipline.  He  punished  the  boys  because 
he  thought  duty  and  Scriptural  commands  required  it,  not  be- 
cause he  particularly  enjoyed  the  whippings.  And  for  all  these 
reasons  it  would  have  been  hard  to  convince  him  that  he  was 
not  doing  right. 

If  it  ever  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  given  the  mischief- 
loving  youngsters  a  whipping  they  did  not  really  deserve,  prob- 
ably he  excused  himself  with  the  reflection  that  if  they  hap- 
pened not  to  have  merited  it  just  then,  they  would  certainly 
deserve  it  often  when  he  had  no  time  to  attend  to  the  duty. 
Therefore,  in  general,'  the  boys  got  but  little  pity  or  sympathy 
from  him. 

But  it  is  very  easy  to  do  wrong  under  mistaken  sense  of 
duty,  and  especially  when  that  feeling  overbears  all  the  kindli- 
ness of  soul  which  makes  life  happy  and  sweet.  Himself,  he 
often  said  that  uall  men  are  poor  miserable  sinners;"  but  per- 
haps he  forgot  the  further  and  just  as  needful  thing  to  re- 
member: 

"The  mercy  I  to  others  show, 
That  mercy  show  to  me." 

For  their  own  part  the  boys  could  not  at  all  appreciate 
the  Parson's  point  of  view;  and  hence  as  he  rode  away,  leaving 
them  sore  and  sullen  to  work  upon  a  hateful  task,  their  hearts 
were  brimming  with  bitterness  and  rebellion.  Endurance  of 
such  woes  seemed  out  of  the  question,  and  so  arose  that  wicked 
purpose  to  run  away  from  home  and  go  to  the  war  as  several 
of  their  boyish  acquaintances  had  already  done. 

If  their  mother  had  been  at  home  to  comfort  them  with 


306  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

her  love  and  sympathy,  no  such  wild  scheme  would  have  en- 
tered their  minds;  but  she  was  gone  and  her  stay  was  indefi- 
nite, hence  the  only  restraining  influence  that  could  have  held 
them  was  absent. 

From  the  talk  of  the  girls  at  supper-time  they  learned  why 
the  Parson  had  left  home.  He  was  summoned  to  attend  a  par- 
ishioner who  was  ill  with  a  malignant  attack  of  typhoid  fever, 
and  was  not  expected  to  recover.  To  the  plotting  boys  this  was 
good  news;  it  left  the  coast  clear,  and  firmly  fixed  in  Na'than's 
mind  the  resolve  that  he  would  be  missing  when  the  Apostle 
returned. 

The  long  nap  of  the  afternoon,  together  with  intense  ex- 
citement kept  the  boys  wide  awake  that  night;  and  after  going 
to  bed  they  discussed  their  plans  in  cautious  whispers  until 
everything  was  arranged  to  their  satisfaction.  When  the  girls 
had  retired,  and  sundry  muffled  snores  told  the  plotters  they 
were  sound  asleep,  Nathan  and  William  crept  noiselessly  out 
of  bed,  dressed  themselves  and  made  ready  for  flight.  First 
they  sneaked  cautiously  down  stairs  into  the  kitchen,  where 
Nathan  secured  a  huge  loaf  of  bread  and  a  beef-bone  that  had 
been  boiled  for  dinner,  but  which  yet  had  a  considerable  quan- 
tity of  meat  left  on  it.  These  provisions  he  tied  up  in  an  apron, 
not  finding  anything  else  to  carry  them  in.  Next  he  sought 
a  candle  and  some  matches  which  he  stowed  in  one  of  his 
pockets.  Then  cautioning  William  to  wait  and  make  no  noise, 
he  tip-toed  back  to  their  bedroom,  got  a  heavy  quilt,  his  gun 
and  ammunition,  together  with  the  Parson's  sword,  and  made 
his  way  quickly  back,  where  his  brother  anxiously  awaited  him. 


THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING/ 


307 


With  this  plunder  they  softly  opened  the  kitchen  door  and  let 
themselves  out,  closing  it  after  them. 

Once  safely  out  of  the  house  they  hurried  to  the  barn.  Here 
the  quilt  was  rolled  up  as  they  had  seen  the  soldiers'  blankets, 
and  Nathan  tied  it  with  a  piece  of  rope,  leaving  a  loop  to  go 
over  the  head,  so  that  it  could  be  swung  upon  the  back,  march- 
ing fashion. 

Having  got  everything  into  shape,  Nathan  hoisted  the  roll 
of  bedding  over  his  shoulder,  and  picked  up  his  gun.    WilliamV 
took  charge  of  the  sword  and  their 
bundle  of  provisions,  and  then  they 
climbed   over   the   fence,   and   struck 
out  across   the  commons,  bound  for 
the  war. 

The  night  was  without  a  cloud, 
and  no  breath  of  wind  stirred.  Every- 
thing seemed  ominously  quiet;  a  shred 
of  moon  hung  low  in  the  West;  it 
gave  but  little  light,  yet  the  stars  glit- 
tered brightly  all  over  the  sky,  and  furnished  light  enough  for 
them  to  march  by. 

Away  to  the  North  the  low  hills  gloomed  against  the  hori- 
zon, looking  like  the  backs  of  some  huge  animals  lying  prone 
on  the  ground.  From  far  off  down  the  river  the  hoarse  toot 
of  a  steamboat  sounded  once  or  twice,  but  the  little  village 
seemed  to  have  gone  to  sleep,  and  only  a  faint  light  or  two 
shone  from  a  drug-store  down  the  main  street. 

Everything  seemed  perfectly  safe,   but  fearing  lest  they 


BOUND  FOR  THE  WAR. 


3o8 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


might  meet  some  belated  traveler,  the  boys  worked  their  way 
with  stealthy  steps  across  the  commons,  keeping  a  sharp  look- 
out for  the  enemy.  Opposite  the  school-house  Nathan  stopped 
for  a  moment,  jerked  the  gun  from  his  shoulder  and  took  aim 
at  the  hated  place,  heartily  wishing  Mr.  Leckrone  was  in  sight; 
how  he  would  blow  him  to  Halifax,  or  some  other  world-dis- 
tant port! 

In  a  little  time  the  fugitives  reached  the  main  highroad 
which  led  out  of  town  to  the  east,  but  soon  turned  south,  the 
direction  in  which  they  intended  to  go.  The  last  house  was 
quickly  left  behind.  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
village  the  road  swung  sharply  round  a  long,  low  ridge, 

with  which  it  ran  parallel  for 
nearly  a  mile,  and  then  stretched 
through  a  creek-bottom.  At  the 
turning  of  this  ridge  the  boys  both 
paused,  and  looked  back  upon  Bluff 
City,  bidding  it  good-bye,  and  se- 
cretly wondering  if  they  should  ever 
see  it  any  more.  Then  straighten- 
ing up  they  stepped  out  bravely,  Nathan  the  while  repeating  in 
a  low  voice  to  time  their  steps  a  doggerel  formula  which  had 
been  used  among  the  school  boys  in  their  mimic  drills: 

"Right!     Right!     Right  mil  the  left  foot, 
Two  by  dern!" 

Upon  hearing  the  scholars  chanting  this  one,  Mr. 
Leckrone  had  very  severely  tabooed  the  last  word  of  the  rig- 
marole; so  the  ingenious  boys  had  substituted  "Two,  by-cracky," 


LOOKED  THEIR  LAST. 


THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING/  309 

for  the  offensive  word.  It  was  not  so  terse  nor  did  it 
make  as  good  rhythm,  but  the  purpose  was  served  just  as 
well.  However,  having  cut  loose  from  all  irritating  au- 
thority, Nathan  returned  to  the  original  form  of  the  thing 
with  much  satisfaction,  giving  it  extra  emphasis  as  he 
marched  along. 

By  the  time  they  had  gone  a  mile,  the  commissary  de- 
partment was  becoming  quite  burdensome  to  Wiiiiam.  For 
several  rods  he  had  been  changing  it  from  one  hand  to  the  other; 
and  once  when  he  swung  the  bundle  from  right  to  left  it  sud- 
denly came  open,  spilling  the  contents  in  the  road. 

"Daggon  the  luck!"  he  exclaimed  in  disgust;  "the  apron's 
come  undone,  and  now  all  our  grub  is  ruined!" 

A  halt  was  made  for  repairs.  Picking  up  the  scattered 
provisions  and  dusting  them  as  well  as  he  was  able,  Nathan  re- 
placed them  in  the  apron,  this  time  tying  its  knots  more  securely. 
Then,  as  William  complained  of  the  weight,  his  brother  slipped 
the  sword  under  the  knots  and  showed  him  how  to  carry  the 
thing  across  his  shoulder,  which  was  easier  and  much  more 
satisfactory. 

Again  they  took  up  their  march,  and  a  mile  further  on 
crossed  a  long  bridge  that  spanned  a  deep,  still  stream,  whose 
surface  reflected  the  spatter-work  of  stars  overhead.  .Here  they 
entered  a  straight  stretch  of  road  through  bottom  lands  that 
ended  in  a  steep  hill,  up  which  the  new  recruits  toiled,  becom- 
ing short  of  breath  and  wondering  if  the  ascent  would  never 
end.  Upon  reaching  the  top  at  last  they  felt  quite  leg-weary, 
and  sat  down  at  one  side  of  the  road  to  rest. 


3io  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"What  d'  ye  suppose  pa  '11  do  when  he  finds  we  Ve  run 
away?"  asked  William  presently. 

"If  he  know'd  where  we  are  goin'  he  'd  take  after  us  with  a 
fist  full  of  hickories,"  returned  Nathan  bitterly.  "But  he  do  n't 
know,  and  he  could  n't  even  guess  which  direction  we  Ve  took." 

"What  are  we  goin'  to  do?"  queried  William  anxiously. 
He  had  no  plans  of  his  own,  trusting  entirely  to  his  brother. 

"Why,  we  '11  go  on  a  piece,"  replied  Nathan,  "and  then 
we  '11  find  a  place  to  sleep.  Tomorry  we  '11  strike  out  fer  Alton, 
and  mebbe  we  kin  git  to  be  drummer  boys  among  the  soldiers 
there." 

This  idea  pleased  William  mightily,  and  he  sighed  with 
great  satisfaction.  In  a  little  time  Nathan  said  they  had  rested 
enough  and  had  better  be  moving  along.  Scarcely  had  they 
gone  a  hundred  feet,  however,  when  something  happened  that 
sent  their  hearts  jumping  into  their  throats  and  brought  them 
to  an  abrupt  halt. 

On  ahead  somewhere,  and  apparently  not  very  far  away 
a  scream  was  heard  that  sounded  as  if  someone  was  in  mortal 
agony.  So  keen  and  unearthly  did  it  rise  in  the  still  night  that 
both  the  boys  began  to  tremble,  and  shrink  out  into  the  bushes 
lining  the  road.  William  cowered  down  in  hiding  and  Nathan 
feebly  cocked  his  gun;  neither  of  them  could  guess  what  ter- 
rible thing  was  likely  to  happen. 

Presently  the  scream  sounded  again,  and  a  little  later  once 
more.  This  time  Nathan  recognized  it,  and  got  up  with  a 
grunt  of  disgust. 

"Shucks!"   he  exclaimed  scornfully.     "It's  nothin'  but  a 


THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING!  '311 

lot  of  hogs.  I  know  where  they  are  now;  they're  at  Borden's 
old  slaughter-house  a  little  ways  ahead.  I  Ve  been  by  it  with 
pa  when  he  's  took  me  with  him  on  the  circuit.  There  ain't 
anything  to  be  skeerd  of." 

This  assurance  was  an  unspeakable  relief  to  William,  and 
saved  him  from  a  fit  of  ague.  He  had  been  muttering  a  snatch 
or  two  of  prayer,  and  had  a  great  desire  to  go  back  home. 
But  the  familiar  sound  pierced  the  air  once  more,  setting  all 
possible  doubts  at  rest,  so  they  got  up  and  marched  on,  feeling 
very  brave. 

About  two  hundred  yards  from  the  hill-top  they  came 
abreast  of  the  slaughter-house,  which  stood  back  a  hundred 
feet  from  the  road.  The  bushes  were  tall  and  thick  about 
it,  but  the  noise  of  the  hogs  guided  them  and  they  found  their 
way  to  the  door.  Pushing  this  open  they  entered,  and  Nathan 
lighted  his  candle  the  better  to  direct  their  steps,  and  enable 
them  to  explore  the  place. 

The  building  was  a  mere  shell,  about  eighteen  feet  square 
and  built  of  rough  boards.  It  was  raised  nearly  three  feet  from 
the  ground  on  underpinning,  and  faced  the  road  by  which  the 
boys  had  come.  Back  of  it  were  two  pens  divided  by  a  parti- 
tion between.  They  were  made  by  lines  of  fence  running  from 
the  corners  of  the  slaughter-house  to  a  sharp  bluff,  at  the  base 
of  which  and  through  the  pens  flowed  a  small  stream  which 
served  to  slake  the  thirst  of  the  animals  confined  within  the 
enclosures  waiting  the  butcher's  time. 

When  the  candle  burned  up  Nathan  and  William  looked 
around.  On  one  side  of  the  room,  and  within  two  feet  of  the 


3i2  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

wall  was  a  pile  of  dry  hides  from  the  slaughtered  cattle.  This 
stack  was  about  four  feet  high,  and  around  the  room  were  other 
scattered  pelts,  among  them  half  a  dozen  sheep  skins. 

Across  the  building  overhead  ran  several  heavy  joists,  and 
to  one  of  these,  at  the  end  of  the  structure  opposite  the  pile  of 
hides  already  mentioned  was  swung  a  heavy  iron  hook.  On 
the  floor  underneath  this  formidable  hook  lay  a  great  blotch 
of  dried  blood;  it  was  the  place  where  butchered  cattle  were 
suspended  to  cool.  Both  the  boys  shuddered  as  they  gazed 
upon  the  sinister  sight. 

"We  '11  stop  here  and  sleep  till  morning,  I  guess,"  said 
Nathan  finally.  "I  kin  make  a  good  bed  out  of  them  sheep- 
skins; we'll  put  it  behind  the  pile  of  hides  there,  and  they'll 
keep  the  wind  off  of  us  that 's  blowing  through  the  cracks." 

"I  'm  hungry,"  suggested  William  dolefully.  The  long 
tramp  had  given  both  of  them  an  appetite. 

"So  'm  I,"  rejoined  Nathan.  "We  'd  better  go  around  to 
the  branch  above  the  hog-pen,  where  we  kin  git  some  water. 
But  we  must  n't  eat  too  much;  what  we  brought  has  got  to  last 
us  clear  to  Alton." 

Taking  their  provender  they  wound  around  through  the 
bushes  until  the  stream  was  reached,  and  then  they  sat  down 
to  eat.  Nathan  scraped  most  of  the  dirt  off  the  loaf  of  bread, 
but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  clean  the  meat.  Even  when  it  had 
been  washed  in  the  stream  the  sand  clinging  to  it  made  their 
lunch  disagreeable.  William  said  the  grit  of  it  in  his  teeth 
sent  cold  chills  down  his  back. 

They  ate  hungrily,  however,  but  at  last  concluded  to  throw 


THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING!  313 

away  the  remaining  meat.  The  greater  part  of  their  loaf  was 
left,  and  after  tying  this  carefully  in  the  apron  again,  they  lay 
down  on  their  stomachs  and  rilled  up  with  long  draughts  of 
water. 

On  their  way  back  to  the  slaughter-house,  they  stopped 
to  peer  over  into  the  pen.  It  contained  twelve  or  fifteen  lusty 
fat  hogs  that  had  been  fed  for  several  months,  not  only  on  corn, 
but  upon  the  offal  from  the  slaughtered  cattle.  Some  of  the 
unwieldy  brutes  were  nosing  about  their  quarters,  while  the 
rest  were  piled  up  in  a  wallow  they  had  made  next  the  enclos- 
ure for  the  cattle. 

After  going  into  the  building  again  and  lighting  his  can- 
dle, Nathan  took  a  couple  of  sheep-skins  and  made  their  bed. 
This  space  between  the  pile  of  hides  and  the  wall  was  rather 
narrow;  barely  wide  enough  for  the  boys  to  lie  down,  and  then 
they  had  to  "spoon"  closely.  To  keep  off  the  draught  that 
came  through  cracks  in  the  wall,  they  stood  up  a  dried  hide 
in  front  of  their  bunk,  and  after  pushing  to  the  door,  crawled 
into  the  sleeping  place. 

Nathan  tucked  his  gun  and  sword  carefully  under  the  edge 
of  their  pallet  of  skins,  and  William,  missing  his  usual  head 
rest,  seized  upon  the  loaf  of  bread  in  its  apron  wrapping  for 
a  pillow.  Then  pulling  the  hide  across  the  opening  of  their 
den,  both  boys  stretched  out  under  their  quilt,  feeling  very 
tired  from  their  tramp,  and  the  excitement  of  the  nefarious 
enterprise. 

"I  wonder  what  the  girls  ur  doin'?"  said  William  pres- 
ently, for  somehow  his  thoughts  would  travel  back  home. 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"Sawin'  gourds,  I  reckon,"  Nathan  responded;  "anyhow 
Eunice  is,  I  bet.  She  always  snores  like  a  harrycane." 

"My!  What  do  you  suppose  they'll  do  when  they  git  up 
in  the  morning  and  find  we  Ve  run  away?" 

"They  '11  raise  Cain,  and  tell  all  the  neighbors ;  but  by  the 
time  anyone  starts  to  find  us,  we  '11  be  out  of  reach." 

William  lay  silent  for  a  minute;  none  of  this  was  what  he 
really  wanted  to  ask,  and  he  was  only  leading  up  to  the  real 
question.  Presently  it  came  out: 

"But  what  '11  poor  ma  say  when  she  hears?"  he  asked  rue- 
fully. 

This  thought  had  been  worrying  Nathan's  conscience  for 
some  time,  but  he  had  kept  it  to  himself.  Even  now  that  it 
was  put  so  plainly  he  had  no  ready  answer  for  it. 

"We  '11  write  to  her,  and  tell  her  all  about  it  when  we  git 
to  Alton,"  he  said  after  a  long  pause.  "But  we'd  better  git 
to  sleep  now;  we  must  hike  out  early." 

Nothing  more  was  said  for  several  minutes ;  but  during  this 
interval  William  turned  restlessly,  seeming  to  be  very  .uncom- 
fortable. 

"Gosh!"  he  broke  out  presently.  "This  bread  is  hard  as 
a  rock,"  and  he  raised  upon  his  elbow  to  pound  it  soft  with 
his  fist,  hoping  thereby  to  make  a  more  comfortable  pillow 
of  it. 

But  despite  the  novelty  of  their  surroundings,  the  unpleas- 
ant odors,  and  the  uncertainty  of  their  prospects,  the  boys  soon 
began  to  feel  drowsiness  stealing  over  them.  They  snuggled 
up  to  each  other  for  warmth,  yet  just  as  they  were  on  the  verge 


THE  BOYS  ARE  MARCHING!  315 

of  slumber  one  of  those  ear-splitting  screams  came  from  the 
hog-pen,  and  brought  them  both  wide  awake  in  a  second. 

Notwithstanding  his  ferocious  greed  and  love  of  dirt,  the 
hog  is  very  sensitive  to  cold.  It  was  now  after  midnight,  and 
the  air  had  growrn  decidedly  chilly.  Most  of  the  porkers  had 
bestowed  their  unwieldy  carcasses  in  the  general  bed,  and  like 
the  boys,  were  lying  close  for  warmth.  But  occasionally  one 

of  those  that  had  been  foraging  about  the  pen  would  get  tired, 

« 

and  wish  to  follow  his  companions.  He  would  then  waddle 
up  to  the  sleeping  drove  that  were  packed  closely  together,  and 
begin  a  series  of  tactics  to  secure  a  place  already  warmed  by 
some  slumbering  grunter. 

After  sundry  meditations  and  rootings  he  would  raise  a 
fore  foot,  plant  his  sharp  hoof  upon  a  snugly  placed  member 
of  the  drove,  and  begin  to  bear  down.  This  would  raise  a 
growl  of  protest.  Presently  the  intruder  would  mount  with 
both  feet  upon  the  victim's  broad  back,  and  the  growl  would 
rise  to  a  yell.  Finally  when  the  tactician  took  two  or  three 
steps  along  the  fat  spine  of  his  victim,  the  yell  would  turn  into 
an  agonized  scream,  one  of  which  had  frightened  the  boys  some 
time  previously.  Then  the  tortured  animal  would  make  the 
whole  sleeping  community  heave  with  his  struggles,  and  utter- 
ing savage,  angry  barks,  would  plunge  out  of  his  place,  while 
the  intruder  that  had  disturbed  him  would  settle  down  in  the 
vacant  warm  spot  with  grunts  and  sighs  of  great  satisfaction. 

Now  observant  farm  life  had  thoroughly  familiarized  the 
boys  with  the  habits  belonging  to  swine,  and  they  quickly  un- 
derstood what  was  going  on  among  the  noisy  brutes  near  by. 


3i6  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

As  some  unusually  vehement  screech  announced  the  success  of 
a  bed-hunter's  maneuvers, .  the  listening  youngsters  laughed 
heartily.  Such  homely  sounds  recalled  many  incidents  of  their 
recent  life  in  the  woods,  some  of  which  were  not  only  fanny, 
but  pathetic  as  well. 

Finally,  however,  the  quarreling  hogs  seemed  to  have 
placed  themselves  to  their  mutual  satisfaction,  and  gradually 
everything  became  quiet.  Then  sleep  again  stole  over  the  tired 
boys.  But  for  a  long  time  it  was  neither  so  deep  nor  so  com- 
fortable as  they  were  used  to;  and  only  their  extraordinary  ex- 
ertions, together  with  the  reaction  from  a  long  day's  excitement 
could  have  sunk  them  into  such  heavy  slumbers  as  at  last 
wrapped  their  waking  senses. 

Even  then  the  cramped  quarters  of  their  bed,  and  the 
strange  conditions  about  them  wrought  upon  the  sleepers. 
They  were  followed  by  visions  unheard  of  before,  and  in  the 
land  of  nightmares  struggled  with  calamities  born  of  guilty 
consciences. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 


"THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT/' 

FOR  nearly  three  hours  the  boys  slept  the  sleep  of 
the  weary  and  conscience  burdened.  In  his  un- 
easy state  William  had  wriggled  up  against  the 
dried  hides,  and  their  flinty  points  pressed  against 
his  spine.  He  struggled  with  a  vivid  vision  in  which  a 
monstrous  hawk's  foot  held  in  the  Parson's  giant  fist  had 
seized  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck.  Nathan  dreamed 
that  he  had  reached  the  army  and  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  fierce  battle. 
A  cannon  ball  had  taken  off 
his  head  and  it  was  rolling 
down  hill,  he  and  William 
in  hot  pursuit.  Just  as  he 
reached  out  to  pick  it 
up,  suddenly  both  ur- 
chins were  brought  to 
startled  consciousness  by 
a  grand  charge  of  the 
hogs,  which,  somehow 
becoming  frightened, 
had  dived  under  the 
slaughter-house  i  n  a 


rushing,  barking  body. 

23 


THE  BOYS'  DREAM. 

31? 


318  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

The  contact  of  the  plunging  brutes  shook  the  shell  of  the 
building  as  if  some  sudden  wind  had  struck  it;  but  when  the 
last  fugitive  had  reached  the  safety  he  sought  all  was  quiet 
again. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  William  in  a  shaking  voice. 

"I  dunno  yet,"  replied  his  brother  softly;  "but  do  n't  make 
a  bit  of  noise;  we  '11  find  out  what  it  means  purty  soon." 

The  same  thought  clawed  at  the  heart  of  each  boy;  namely, 
that  the  vengeful  Parson  had  somehow  discovered  their  pur- 
pose and  come  after  them.  They  listened  breathlessly,  and 
presently  the  gate  of  the  cattle-pen  creaked  "complainingly. 
Peering  through  a  crack  the  watching  youth  saw  nearly  a  score 
of  horses  being  led  into  the  enclosure  by  as  many  shadowy 
forms,  which  in  the  dim  light  looked  very  spooky. 

"Be  keerful  now,"  they  heard  a  low  voice  say.  "No 
use  makin'  any  great  noise;  ye  can't  tell  what  it  might 
stir  up." 

When  the  horses  had  been  secured  to  the  fence  the  shadowy 
forms  filed  out  of  the  pen,  and  softly  closed  the  gate  after  them. 
The  boys  lay  down  quickly,  and  putting  his  lips  close  to  Wil- 
liam's ear  Nathan  whispered  warningly: 

"Let's  keep  still  as  mice.  This  thing  looks  mighty  skeery; 
if  they  ketch  us,  we  '11  have  to  go  back  home  again." 

Presently  they  heard  the  door  of  the  slaughter-house  pushed 
open,  and  then  the  sound  of  numerous  cautious  feet  were  de- 
tected coming  into  the  building.  When  the  last  one  had  entered 
and  the  door  was  shut  all  stood  still,  and  one  who  seemed  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  gang  scratched  a  match;  as  it  blazed  up 


THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT.  319 

he  cast  a  hurried  glance  about  the  room,  saying  as  the  match 
burned  out: 

"Ye  kin  pile  yerselves  down  here  anywheres;  there  's  nothin' 
to  set  on,  and  we  've  got  an  hour  or  so  to  wait  before  the  job 
comes  off." 

Then  as  the  men  sat  down  upon  the  floor,  two  or  three 
leaning  their  backs  against  the  very  pile  of  hides  behind  which 
the  boys  were  hidden,  one  said  with  a  whistle: 

"Pheww!    This  smells  wuss  than  a  glue-factory r" 

"Cork  yer  smeller  and  breathe  through  yer  mouth!"  mut- 
tered the  leader.  "It  ain't  half  as  bad  as  some  places  I've 
seen ;  that  battle  field  down  Yazoo  way,  fer  instance,  the  next 
day  after  the  fight." 

When  the  men  were  settled  in  their  various  places,  there 
was  a  general  lighting  of  pipes,  interrupted  once  by  a  remark 
from  the  leader: 

"Do  n't  make  too  much  of  a  glim  with  yer  matches!  Shade 
'em  in  yer  hands;  I  ain't  certain  that  we  ought  to  smoke  any- 
way." 

"Why,  there  's  not  likely  to  be  anybody  comin'  along  the 
road  at  five  o'clock  in  the  mornin',  Cap,"  said  one  of  the 
number. 

"Ye  can't  tell  anything  about  it.  Might  be;  and  besides 
we  were  told  not  to  take  the  least  chance  of  bunglin'  what 
we  've  come  to  do." 

But  even  the  captain's  desire  to  smoke  overcame  his 
caution,  and  for  half  an  hour  there  was  a  silent  pulling  at 
pipes.  During  this  interval  one  or  two  of  the  gang  dropped 


320  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

V 

asleep,  and  presently  disturbed  the  company  by  long  drawn 
snores. 

"Wake  them  fellers  up !"  growled  the  captain.  "We  do  n't 
want  their  bazzoos  goin'  till  ye  could  hear  'em  a  mile." 

Some  of  their  near  by  companions  poked  the  sleepers 
awake,  and  for  their  trouble  were  rewarded  by  a  few  choice 
oaths. 

"Shet  up,  and  keep  your  eyes  open,"  snarled  the  captain, 
who  seemed  to  be  over  full  of  caution  and  ill  temper.  "Ye 
kin  sleep  all  ye  want  to  when  we  Ve  finished  our  business, 
and  git  back  across  the  river." 

There  was  some  muttering  and  then  a  long  silence.  At 
last  the  strain  on  William's  nerves  became  awful;  he  turned 
his  head  very  softly  and  whispered  to  Nathan: 

"I  'm  a-shakin'  all  over." 

"What 's  that?"  suddenly  asked  a  voice  in  startled  tones. 
Nathan  laid  his  hand  across  William's  lips,  and  both  the  boys 
held  their  breath. 

"What  d'  ye  mean?"  asked  the  captain  fretfully. 

"I  heard  some  one  whisperin'!"  said  the  first  speaker. 

It  was  one  of  the  men  that  leaned  against  the  pile  of 
hides,  and  he  was  seated  right  opposite  the  boys'  heads.  A 
thrilling  silence  fell  upon  the  crowd  at  his  words,  and  they 
seemed  to  be  listening  intently.  Presently  some  of  the  pigs 
beneath  the  floor  stirred  uneasily  and  one  or  two  emitted  long 
sighs. 

"Ye  heard  them  brutes  down  below,  I  guess,"  remarked 
the  captain  gruffly.  "What  else  should  there  be?" 


THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT.  321 

"That  is  more  than  I  can  tell,"  returned  the  man  ad- 
dressed. "What  I  thought  I  heard  did  n't  sound  like  hogs." 

The  speaker's  voice  seemed  very  familiar  to  the  breath- 
less boys,  but  just  at  that  moment  they  failed  to  identify  it. 
In  a  short  time  the  captain  again  got  to  his  feet  and  lighted 
another  match.  This  time  he  gazed  keenly  all  about  the  room 
but  saw  nothing  to  arouse  his  suspicions.  Before  darkness;  fell 
again,  however,  his  eyes  alighted  upon  the  formidable  iron 
hook  that  dangled  from  the  joist  above  his  head. 

"That 's  just  the  trick,  and  no  mistake,"  he  said  in  tones 
of  great  satisfaction,  holding  the  match  aloft  the  better  to  see. 

"What 's  the  job  to  be,  Cap?"  asked  one  of  the  men  near  by, 
who  seemed  not  to  have  understood  the  leader's  grim  remark. 

"Chokin'I"  was  the  terse  response. 

"Why,  ye  do  n't  mean  ye  're  goin'  to  hang  the  man,  Cap!" 
exclaimed  another  of  the  gang.  "I  understood  the  thing  we 
wuz  to  do  was  only  to  trap  him,  and  give  him  a  good  cow- 
hiding.  Remember  old,  Flint  is  a  Methody  preacher!" 

"Yer  understandin'  needs  a  new  in-sole,"  was  the  scorn- 
ful reply.  "I  got  my  orders,  and  I'll  obey  'em.  It's  to  be 
hangin'  and  a  plenty  of  it." 

"Let  him  hang;  he's  no  relation  or  friend  of  mine," 
drawled  the  voice  whose  familiar  tones  had  puzzled  the  boys 
previously.  Instantly  they  recognized  that  it  belonged  to  Jor- 
dan Blake! 

"And  he  's  no  friend  of  mine  either,"  said  the  man  who 
had  begun  the  discussion.  "But  he's  a  preacher,  and  besides 
he  's  got  a  family." 


322  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"What 's  the  matter  with  ye,  Stoper?"  snarled  the  leader 
in  a  rising  rage.  uls  he  any  better  than  Grigsby  that  we  let 
the  blood-hounds  tear  to  pieces  over  yander  in  the  swamps? 
Does  he  deserve  easier  than  Simmons  or  Craig  what  we  hung 
up  by  the  heels  to  dry  after  they  'd  been  howlin'  for  abo- 
lition?" 

"Mebbe  not,"  replied  the  man  thus  addressed.  "But  I 
do  n't  like  the  job  of  hangin'  a  preacher;  and  I  say  we'd  ought 
to  have  knowed  what  we  wuz  about  when  we  come  over  here." 

"Ye  kin  take  the  back  track  right  now  if  ye  want  to," 
said  the  leader  with  a  ring  of  threat  in  his  words.  "What  you 
bound  yerself  to  do  when  ye  jined  us  was  to  obey  orders.  The 
boys  '11  give  ye  a  lively  welcome  if  ye  show  the  white  feather 
and  desart  us  now." 

"I've  no  notion  of  desertin';  but  honest,  Cap,  d'ye  mean 
to  hang  the  man  like  ye  say?" 

"That 's  jist  what  I  '11  do.    He  's  been  yawpin'  long  enough, 
and  I  'd  'a'  fixed  him  long  ago,  if  I  'd  had  my  say.    The  d— 
nigger-lover!     I  '11  not  only  hang  him,  but  I  '11  do  wuss!" 

"What's  that,  Cap?"  queried  an  interested  listener. 

"Why,  when  I  Ve  stretched  his  infernal  neck,  I  '11  bury 
him  whar  they  can't  dig  him  up  and  identify  him!" 

"Where's  that;  in  the  river?"  asked  the  man. 

"In  these  damned  hogs'  bellies,"  returned  the  leader  bru- 
tally, v 

"Great  God,  Cap!  Ye  don't  mean  to  say  ye 'd  feed  a 
man  to  the  hogs,  do  ye,  especially  a  white  man?"  exclaimed  the 
listener  whose  protest  had  so  aroused  the  leader's  anger. 


THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT.  323 

"That 's  jist  exactly  what  I  '11  do,"  was  the  savage  reply. 
"Hev  ye  got  anything  to  say  ag'in  it?" 

"Ugh!"  was  the  shuddering  response.  "It  fairly  makes 
me  sick,  even  t'  hear  ye  talk  about  it!" 

"Well,  ye  '11  git  over  that  mebbe  some  day.  I  'm  mighty 
sorry  yer  stomach  's  so  weak.  Ye  'd  ought  to  take  somethin' 
fer  it;  the  thing  may  kill  ye  'fore  long." 

This  sarcastic  menace  brought  no  response,  and  presently 
the  heartless  leader  went  on  as  if  to  excuse  his  proposed  out- 
rage: 

"That  snortin'  pulpit  pounder  hez  been  at  large  too  long. 
He  's  hed  warnin's  enough;  more  'n  we  ginerally  give  his  stripe, 
and  all  he  's  done  is  to  blow  an'  make  fun  of  'em.  Hangin'  's 
too  good  fer  him.  If  I  hed  him  tother  side  of  the  river,  I  'd 
pour  a  can  of  coal-ile  over  him  and  touch  a  match  to  his  coat- 
tails." 

A  profund  silence  followed  this  burst  of  brutality,  and 
the  men  seemed  to  be  pondering  what  their  leader  had  said. 
The  sluggish  brutes  under  them  had  lain  down,  and  only  an 
occasional  grunt  or  snarl  from  them  could  be  heard,  like  an 
emphasis  to  the  captain's  horrible  details.  Presently  one  of  the 
gang  who  had  not  hitherto  spoken  asked  with  lively  interest: 

"How  d'  ye  expect  to  trap  yer  meat,  Cap?  What's  the 
program?" 

"I  Ve  kep'  track  of  the  abolition  hound  fer  a  week,  through 
Blake  here,  lookin'  to  carry  out  this  job,"  replied  the  captain. 
"Last  night  the  blame  fool  went  to  set  up  with  Guthrie  that 's 
got  the  fever.  The  place  is  not  more  than  three  or  four  mile 


324  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

from  here.  Tom  Scranton  left  us  when  we  'd  landed  from  the 
boat;  he's  to  go  over  to  Guthrie's  and  tell  old  Flint  that  Bor- 
den,  the  man  that  owns  this  slaughter-house  an'  lives  a  mile 
beyond  here  is  hurt  bad,  an'  wants  him  to  come  over  at  once. 
He  '11  take  the  bait  easy  enough.  When  he  leaves  Guthrie's, 
he  '11  strike  the  main  road  here  down  in  the  bottoms  jist  this 
side  of  the  bridge,  and  when  he  gits  this  fur  we  '11  be  layin'  fer 
him.  He  '11  not  be  lookin'  fer  any  trouble  an'  '11  walk  right 
into  the  trap." 

"Suppose  he  do  n't  come  this  way,"  suggested  the  listener. 

"But  he  will ;  there  's  no  other  road  fer  him  to  take,"  said 
the  captain. 

"The  captain's  right;  -I  know  the  lay  of  the  land;  he'll 
come  this  way.  I  wonder  what  th'  price  of  side-meat  and 
sausage  '11  be  in 'town  fer  a  month  or  two,"  drawled  Jordan 
Blake  with  a  lazy  laugh. 

"Oh,  shet  up!  You  'd  make  a  dog  sick,"  snorted  the  man 
who  objected  to  hanging  a  preacher.  "I  kin  never  eat  any 
pork  ag'in  as  long  as  I  live!" 

The  breathless  boys  had  heard  it  all,  and  they  lay  in  a 
stupor  of  utter  terror,  bathed  in  a  cold  sweat.  They  knew  only 
too  well  the  character  of  the  savage  men  near  them,  for  Bluff 
City  had  long  been  full  of  rumors  about  their  horrible  doings. 
They  recognized  a  band  of  raiding  guerrillas  from  the  state 
across  the  river;  probably  the  same  merciless  gang  that  was 
responsible  for  the  outrage  upon  the  farmer  who  had  lived  but 
a  few  miles  distant.  The  story  of  his  misfortunes  had  stirred 
every  heart  in  town. 


THE  TERROR  BY  NIGHT.  325 

Even  if  the  intended  victim  had  not  been  called  by  name, 
the  horror-stricken  urchins  would  have  recognized  who  "the 
nigger-lover"  was  that  these  .men  were  after.  He  had  been 
called  by  this  name  very  often  in  the  anonymous,  threatening 
letters  he  had  so  rashly  scorned. 

Taking  care  not  to  move  a  finger,  and  scarely  daring  to 
breathe  the  boys  lay  listening  to  the  hideous  details  of  the  plan 
they  heard,  quivering  in  every  nerve.  And  as  the  dreadful 
tragedy  was  unfolded  by  the  talk  about  them,  their  very  blood 
seemed  to  turn  cold,  and  the  tobacco-tainted  darkness  appeared 
to  close  down  upon  them  like  some  dank,  slow,  smothering  hand. 

Their  hearts  had  been  full  of  rebellion  and  bitterness. 
They  had  run  away  from  home  and  the  cruel  rod,  bent  on 
escaping  from  their  stern  father's  rule  and  discipline.  Only  the 
day  before,  they  had  thought  that  no  fate  could  be  worse  than 
that  which  dogged  them;  and  as  they  set  forth  upon  this  wan- 
dering journey  both  of  them  would  have  declared  that  noth- 
ing could  make  them  forget  the  cause  that  urged  them  to  the 
great  undertaking.  But  as  the  villainy  and  unspeakable  hor- 
ror of  the  thing  they  had  overheard  soaked  into  their  bristling 
heads,  an  utter  revulsion  of  feeling  came  over  them.  They 
jio  longer  remembered  the  numerous  griefs  and  mountainous 
woes  that  had  driven  them  away:  they  forgot  the  double  pun- 
ishment of  the  day  before,  and  the  hundred  other  whippings 
of  other  days.  Every  stroke  of  the  rod  seemed  nothing;  for 
in  their  terrorized  imaginations  there  arose  but  one  picture 
that  grew  in  dread  and  lurid  savagery  until  the  very  breath 
seemed  about  to  fail  their  lips. 


326  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

In  this  dark  fancy  they  saw  that  stern  face  that  had  so 
often  chilled  their  warm  impulses  with  its  heavy  frown  grow- 
ing black  and  ghastly  as  the  cruel  rope  choked  out  the  life  of 
its  victim,  while  he  was  dangling  from  that  iron  hook  above 
the  hideous  blotch  of  blood.  And  they  clung  desperately  to 
each  other  as  imagination  painted  a  more  destroying  sight. 
They  beheld  that  hard,  strong  face,  and  the  hands  that  had  so 
often  wielded  the  avenging  rod  over  their  backs,  torn  and 
mutilated  among  the  growling,  fighting,  storming  brutes  that 
now  lay  so  quiet  beneath  them. 

And  as  the  full  terror  of  it  gnawed  at  their  very  hearts, 
and  strained. every  nerve  almost  to  breaking,  not  a  single  stroke 
of  the  rod  was  remembered,  but  a  great  resolve  began  to  grow 
and  glow  in  their  sickened  hearts. 

They  could  not  think  how  to  escape,  nor  what  to  do;  yet 
if  it  could  be  done,  if  it  were  possible,  they  would  save  him, 
even  if  they  died  in  the  attempt! 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE, 

WHILE  the  incidents  we  have  last  related  were  tran- 
spiring, the  dawn  was  slowly  coming.     Gradually 
the  gloom  melted,  and  the  old  slaughter-house  be- 
gan to  lose   its   darkness,   a  wan  gray  light  soon 
making   the    interior   faintly  visible    in    the   chill    coming   of 
a  new  day. 

Silence  had  fallen  upon  the  motley  group  of  bandits  sit- 
ting about  in  grim  discomfort  and  waiting.  Doubtless  the 
vicious  threats  of  their  leader  had  impressed  their  minds,  and 
perhaps  some  of  them  less  hardened  than  others  wished  in  their 
hearts  the  job  was  over. 

Presently  the  rattle  of  a  horse's  hoofs  was  heard  upon  the 
road,  and  all  of  the  men  pricked  sharp  ears  to  learn  who  was 
coming. 

"That 's  Tom  Scranton,  I  guess,"  exclaimed  the  captain 
with  fierce  eagerness.  "I  told  him  to  come  on  here  and  let  me 
know  after  he  'd  give  old  Flint  the  yarn." 

The  horse  turned  from  the  highway  and  dashed  through 
the  bushes  up  to  the  slaughter-house  door.  Directing  his  men 
to  remain  within  and  keep  still,  the  captain  hurried  out  to 
meet  his  messenger. 

327 


328 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


'     i 


"Well,  what  news?"  he  asked  of  the  rider. 
"It 's  all  right.     He  was  just  going  to  breakfast  as  I  got 
there.     I  gave  him  the  message  and  then  told  him  I  'd  ride 
to  town  for  a  doctor.    He  said  he  'd  come  over  as  soon  as  he  'd 
snatched  a  bite  to  eat.    By  this  time  he  's  on  the  way,  and  you  'd 

better  get  your  trap  ready." 

"Ride  straight  for  the   river,"   re- 
turned the  captain  hurriedly,  "and  see 
that  everything  is  ready  to  cross  with- 
out  a   minute's   waitin'.     It  may 
be  we  '11  want  to  go  in  a  hurry, 
though  't  ain't  likely." 

The     messenger     turned 


and   galloped   away  to  carry 
out  this  order,  and  the  captain 
hastily   re-entered   the   build- 
ing.    As  he  did  so  the  hogs, 
wakened   by   the   noises,   began   to   fight, 
grunt  and  squeal,  digging  each  other  with 
snout  and  sharp  tusks. 
"The  critters  're  gittin'  hongry,  Cap;  they  wants  break- 
fast," suggested  one  hardened  wretch  with  a  gutteral  laugh. 

"And  we  '11  give  it  to  'em  purty  soon,  I  guess,"  returned 
the  captain  with  a  hoarse  chuckle.  "Git  ready,  men.  String 
yerselves  out  now  as  I  told  ye,  on  each  side  of  the  road  about 
ten  foot  apart.  Stay  close  to  th  *  edge,  but  keep  hid.  I  do  n't 
want  any  shootin'  except  as  a  last  thing,  and  then  I  '11  be  below 
you,  so  that  if  he  should  start  to  run  I  kin  drap  his  hoss.  Ye 


'WELL,   WHAT   NEWS?" 


DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


329 


know  what  to  do.  Blake  here  '11  holler  to  him  when  he  gits 
opposite  where  we  are,  and  make  him  stop.  Then  four  of  ye 
jump  for  the  hoss's  bridle  and  the  rest  nail  the  old  skunk." 

"First,  Blake,  you  go  down  nigh. the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
when  ye  see  him  comin'  hurry  back  an'  let  us  know.  Dave  an* 
me  '11  stay  here  and  fix  the  necktie  fer  the  onery  galoot,  and 
take  our  places  a  bit  later.  Let  there  be  no  bobblin'!  We'll 
shut  one  mouth  that 's  done  more  harm  by  his  fool  blather- 
skite than  ary  dozen.  Go  now." 

In  obedience  to  these  hurried  directions,  the  men  filed  out 
of  the  door  and  disappeared  in  the  bushes.  When  they  had 
gone  the  captain  said  to  Dave,  who  had  remained  with 
him: 

"Got  the  rope?" 

"Here  it  is,  and  glad  to  get  rid  of  it,"  was  the 
reply,  as  the  aid  unwound  from  about  his  waist  ten 
feet  of  clothesline. 

Peeping  out  between  the  hides  and  wall,  the  boys 
watched  the  captain  deftly  form  a  hangman's  noose  in 
the  rope,  and  then  after  a  toss  or  two  succeed  in  cast- 
ing the  cord  over  the  iron  hook. 

"There;  that's  all  ready,"  he  remarked  with  grim 
satisfaction. 

"I  guess  several  of  us '11  have  to  pull  on  it,"  laughed  his 
companion.  "The  old  rooster  is  pretty  heavy,  Blake  says." 

"We  '11  pull  hard  enough,"  rejoined  the  captain  with  an 
oath.  "Then  I  '11  pry  up  a  couple  of  plank  in  the  floor,  and 
drop  the  dog  down  under  them  out  of  sight." 


GOT  THE   ROPE?' 


33o  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"Lord!"  exclaimed  the  aid,  rubbing  his  sides  tenderly. 
"This  stuff  in  my  belt  feels  as  if  it  weighed  a  hundred  pounds; 
I  'm  fairly  rubbed  raw  with  the  heft  of  it!" 

"Me,  too,  with  mine,"  responded  the  captain.  "Six  or 
seven  thousand  dollars  in  gold  gits  derned  heavy  after  a  man 
hez  carried  it  a  few  hours  on  horseback.  But  I  did  n't  dare 
to  leave  it  in  camp.  I  Ve  picked  it  up  in  half  a  dozen  states, 
and  risked  my  neck  to  get  most  of  it;  so  I  take  no  chances  of 
losin'  it.  However,  we  'd  better  lighten  ship  till  this  job  's 
over.  We  may  hev  to  hustle  purty  lively.  Give  me  yer  stuff 
and  I  '11  hide  it  until  the  picnic  is  done  with." 

Saying  this  he  unbuckled  from  about  his  own  waist  a 
heavy  belt,  and  taking  the  one  handed  to  him  by  his  aid,  they 
both  left  the  building. 

Nathan  glued  his  eyes  to  a  crack,  and  presently  saw  the 
men  come  in  sight  about  thirty  paces  from  the  door.  Here 
the  captain  dropped  the  two  belts  into  a  hollow  stump,  and 
covered  them  carefully  with  a  few  handfuls  of  dead  leaves. 
Having  thus  secreted  their  treasures,  the  guerillas  disappeared 
in  the  bushes,  going  to  their  ambush  by  the  road. 

"Oh,  good  Lord!  What '11  we  do?"  whispered  William,, 
trembling  violently  with  the  excitement  and  danger. 

"We  Ve  got  to  run,"  replied  Nathan  in  a  strained  voice. 
"Now  's  the  time,  'fore  any  of  'em  come  back.  Be  keerful,  an' 
do  n't  make  a  noise  a  cat  could  hear." 

They  abandoned  gun,  quilt  and  sword;  these  would  only 
be  a  burden  to  them,  and  they  could  not  afford  to  carry  any 
extra  weight.  Tiptoeing  to  the  door,  Nathan  peeped  out  with 


DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE.  331 

pounding  heart,  but  seeing  the  coast  clear  he  motioned  to  Wil- 
liam, and  together  they  dodged  out  of  the  building,  around  the 
corner  into  the  bushes  that  lined  the  stream  flowing  through 
the  pens.     The  grunting  hogs  made 
a  rush  towards  that  side  of  the  en- 
closure,  under   the   impression   that 
some  one  had  come  to  feed  them  as 
usual.     With   a  last  glance   at   the 
pushing,    crowding    brutes,    and    a 
mental  vision  of  that  horrible  feast 
the   captain   had   sworn   to   provide 
for  the  ferocious  animals  blighting  DODGED  RouND  THE  CoRNER- 

their  very  hearts,  the  boys  hurried  away  down  the  stream. 

In  the  far  East  the  glorious  sun  had  just  climbed  a  hill- 
top, and  he  was  smiling  broadly  over  the  land,  as  if  no  scene 
of  savage  barbarism  had  been  planned  to  greet  his  coming. 
The  air  was  cool  and  fresh,  and  the  brook  babbled  some  story 
of  its  own,  as  it  purled  along  on  its  hurried  way  to  the  great 
river. 

The  boys  remembered  that  this  stream  made  a  turn,  cross- 
ing the  road  by  which  they  had  come  about  two-thirds  of  the 
way  towards  the  long  hill  they  had  climbed  the  previous  night. 
Hurriedly,  yet  making  scarcely  any  noise  they  scudded  along 
the  bank,  stooping  so  that  the  rank  undergrowth  might  hide 
them  from  any  chance  enemy. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  reached  the  curve  of  the  stream, 
and  knew  that  the  road  must  be  near.  Slackening  their  pace 
they  approached  the  highway  cautiously,  and  anxiously  scanned 


332  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

it  from  behind  a  bush.  A  dozen  yards  off  they  saw  Jordan 
Blake.  True  to  his  lazy  habits,  he  had  stretched  himself  out 
face  down  on  a  log  beside  the  road,  where  he  could  just  peep 
over  the  crest  of  the  hill  by  which  the  Parson  was  expected  to 
come.  His  chin  was  resting  on  one  fat  arm,  and  with  the  other 
hand  he  was  slowly  scratching  himself,  evidently  very  sleepy 
and  uncomfortable. 

For  a  minute  the  boys  watched  his  recumbent  form  fear- 
fully; then  slipping  off  their  shoes  and  holding  one  in  each 
hand  they  stole  softly  from  the  bushes  for  a  few  feet,  suddenly 
put  on  a  wild  burst  of  speed  and  ran  by  the  unsuspecting  spy, 
disappearing  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  in  a  trice. 

As  they  flew  by  him,  Blake  gave  a  sudden  start  and  rolled 
off  the  log.  Scrambling  heavily  to  his  feet  he  drew  a  revolver 
and  hurried  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  in  pursuit;  but  already  the 
boys  were  a  quarter  of  the  way  down,  going  ten  feet  at  a  jump. 
Blake  caught  sight  of  them  just  as  William  stumbled,  falling 
headlong  and  rolling  over  and  over,  his  two  shoes  flying  in 
opposite  directions.  But  whether  hurt  or  not,  he  sprang  up 
quickly  and  sped  on  all  the  faster. 

The  discomfited  lubber  had  recognized  both  of  the  fugi- 
tives and  he  handled  his  pistol  nervously.  But  the  captain  had 
forbidden  any  use  of  firearms,  so,  as  the  only  thing  left  to  do 
he  turned  and  ran  for  the  slaughter-house  faster  than  his  legs 
had  ever  carried  him  before.  When  yet  he  was  a  hundred 
yards  away  the  captain,  who  had  been  eagerly  watching  for  his 
approach  saw  him  coming,  and  quickly  surmised  that  some- 
thing unforeseen  had  happened.  With  a  muttered  oath  he 


24 


Ran  by  the  Unsuspecting  Spy. 


DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE.  333 

rushed  from  his  ambush  to  meet  Blake,  and  between  his  gasps 
for  breath  that  worthy  managed  to  say: 

"Sold,  Cap!  Parson's  boys.  They  must  ha'  been  hid  be- 
hind that  pile  of  hides;  knowed  I  heard  somethin'  last  night. 
They're  on  the  road  and  '11  meet  the  man  you  're  after!" 

With  a  roar  of  profanity  the  captain  jerked  himself  about 
and  rushed  for  the  slaughter-house,  calling  loudly  for  his  men 
who  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  swarmed  into  the  road  filled  with 
alarm. 

"The  horses,  quick!"  cried  the  furious  captain.  "Not  a 
minit  t'  lose;  stir  yerselves  or  the  job  's  lost!" 

Running  at  full  speed  the  gang  reached  the  pen,  tore  open 
the  gate  and  were  quickly  mounted,  galloping  after  their  leader 
who  was  foremost  in  the  hurried  stampede. 

Meantime  Blake  had  made  for  the  slaughter-house,  where 
he  found  the  boys'  bed  and  traps,  thus  confirming  his  first  sur- 
mise. As  the  captain  swung  into  his  saddle  Blake  yelled  to 
him: 

"They've  been  here  all  right,  Cap;  I  've  found  their  out- 
fit!" 

The  crowding  gang  broke  through  the  bushes  into  the 
road,  and  one  of  the  bewildered  men  called  out: 

"What's  the  row,  captain?" 

"The  Parson's  brats  were  hid  in  the  house;  heard  all  we 
said;  gone  to  meet  the  old  man;  they  passed  Blake  at  the  hill; 
ride!" 

"What '11  we  do  with  the  kids?"  yelled  the  questioner. 

"Pups  make  dogs;  shoot  the  whole  breed,"   returned  the 


334  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

captain  with  an  angry  oath.  "No  more  talk;  use  yer  spurs!" 
and  the  astonished  band  set  off  at  breakneck  pace  after  the 
luckless  fugitives. 

Meanwhile  the  boys  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
and  at  their  utmost  speed  flew  along  the  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
straight  road  through  the  bottoms,  leading  to  the  bridge.  Ter- 
ror barked  at  their  nimble  heels  and  urged  them  to  greater 
effort  than  otherwise  had  been  possible.  But  this  fright  had 
strained  their  nerves,  too,  and  al-ready  their  breath  was  coming 
in  hot,  short  gasps.  Nathan  was  straining  his  eyes  toward  the 
bridge,  near  which  he  knew  that  the  road  by  which  the  Parson 
must  come  debouched  into  the  highway;  and  as  he  ran,  not 
seeing  the  Apostle,  a  great  sob  bubbled  up  in  his  throat  fairly 
choking  him. 

But  when  yet  within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  by-road, 
to  the  inexpressible  relief  of  both  urchins  they  caught  sight 
of  the  familiar  head  of  old  Daniel,  nodding  through  the  trees, 
and  turning  into  the  highway  ahead  of  them.  With  a  tough, 
fresh-cut  hickory  sprout  in  his  hand  the  Parson  was  riding 
along  easily,  not  in  the  least  dreaming  of  any  danger  lurking 
in  that  bright  morning. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  the  flying  boys  the  old  horse 
threw  up  his  head  and  came  to  an  abrupt  halt.  The  Parson 
stared  in  a  state  of  alarm,  for  he  recognized  the  runners  in- 
stantly. What  on  earth  were  they  doing  here  at  such  a  time; 
and  what  ailed  them! 

As  they  rapidly  drew  near,  Daniel  snorted  and  made  as  if 
he  would  whirl  and  run;  but  with  a  kick  and  jerk  of  the  reins 


DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


335 


the  Parson  brought  him  to  a  standstill;  then  with  dropping  jaw 
he  glared  at  his  offspring  in  a  trance  of  stupefied  amazement. 

The  appearance  the  two  urchins  presented  was  enough  to 
bewilder  anyone  who  had  no  knowledge  of  their  mission  or 
what  had  led  up  to  it.  They  were  both  bareheaded,  having 
lost  their  hats.  They  were  wild-eyed,  unkempt,  dirty  and  reek- 
ing with  sweat  from  their  desperate  speed.  William  was  al- 
most past  speaking,  and  Nathan  but  little  better;  but  as  the 
latter  reeled  up,  he  seized  his  father  by  the  leg  and  in  a  gasp- 
ing voice  whose  very  prickle  of  terror  stirred  a  tremor  of  alarm 
in  the  Parson's  stout  heart,  he  dropped  out  the  words: 

"Oh,    pa — ! — gueril's — run,    run!      They're    right 
back   yander — run,    run!    they're    goin' — t'    hang   ye— 
they're   comin' — they 're 'goin'   t'    feed   the   hogs!    run, 
run,  run!" 

And  as  if  to  emphasize  his  ter- 
rible though  incoherent  warning  the 
thunder  of  beating  hoofs  sounded 
through  the  still  morning  air  from 
the  hill,  over  the  crest  of  which 
poured  the  now  infuriated  bandits 
who  were  after  the  Parson's  life. 

But  the  Parson  was  sharp-witted  and  very  quick  to  act. 
He  did  not  fully  comprehend  the  real  nature  of  the  peril  until 
much  later;  but  there  was  enough  in  the  wild  horror  of  the 
boys'  faces  and  words  to  make  his  own  heart  leap,  and  cry  that 
flight  meant  possible  safety,  not  only  for  himself  but  the  pant- 
ing urchins. 


'OH  PA!     GUER-I-LS! 


336  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Slipping  a  foot  from  its  stirrup,  he  held  out  one  of  his 
powerful  hands  and  said  sharply,  "Up  behind  me,  Nathan!" 
And  when  the  boy  had  instantly  climbed  to  his  place,  with  one 
mighty  sweep  of  his  other  arm  the  Apostle  caught  up  William 
and  held  him  in  front,  close  to  his  breast.  Then  whirling  the 
horse  in  his  tracks,  he  laid  on  the  hickory  in  hard,  stinging 
blows  that  roused  the  animal  to  frenzy. 

Fly,  Daniel,  fly!  Three  lives  are  depending  on  your 
speed!  It  is  a  race  between  safety  and  a  dog's  vile  death! 
There  is  no  mercy  in  the  tiger  hearts  behind  you!  They  mean 
cruel  destruction!  What  would  mother  say  if  she  knew!  Fly, 
Daniel,  FLY! 

Stung  by  the  cutting  gad  the  old  horse  stretched  himself 
to  the  uttermost;  he  thundered  over  the  long  bridge  which 
shook  under  his  passage,  and  took  the  road  beyond  with  a  wild 
gallop  that  even  Black  Bess  might,  not  for  a  time  have  rivaled: 
Nathan  bounced  about  upon  the  croup,  holding  to  his  father's 
waist  with  the  tenacity  of  a  squirrel,  and  William,  grasped 
by  the  Parson's  sinewy  left  arm,  burrowed  his  tow  head  into 
his  father's  breast  to  hide  the  dreadful  world  from  his  fright- 
ened eyes. 

As  they  thundered  over  the  bridge,  the  guerillas  who  were 
by  this  time  coming  down  the  long  hill  caught  sight  of  them, 
and  with  a  keen  yell  bent  low  in  their  saddles,  digging  spurs 
into  their  horses  to  overtake  the  fleeing  victims.  The  leader 
unslung  his  rifle  and  the  others  imitated  his  example,  but  no 
further  word  was  spoken;  they  strained  forward  as  fast  as 
horseflesh  could  carry  them. 


•Fly,  Daniel!    Fly!' 


DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE.  337 

Meanwhile  old  Daniel  was  tearing  along  the  highroad, 
putting  every  atom  of  his  strength  into  his  strides.  With  heels 
and  hickory  the  Parson  kept  him  to  the  mark,  and  even  tried 
to  urge  him  into  faster  pace,  but  the  gallant  old  charger  was 
already  doing  his  level  best. 

A  growing  fear  began  to  chill  the  Parson's  breast;  the 
horse  was  old,  and  his  sinews  somewhat  stiffened.  He  had 
never  been  put  to  such  a  terrible  test  before.  Already  the 
sweat  started  from  his  sides  and  neck;  his  breathing  was  loud 
and  hoarse.  He  was  trebly  burdened,  and  the  load  must  ut- 
terly exhaust  him  in  a  brief  time  at  the  rate  he  was  going. 
Safety  was  yet  nearly  two  miles  away;  would  they  ever  reach  it! 

On!  On!  The  sun-flecked  road  seemed  to  fly  backwards 
beneath  them,  and- the  heart-breaking  stride  was  never  relaxed; 
but  behind  them  the  rumble  of  pursuing  feet  grew  near  and 
menacing,  while  the  savage  riders  raked  bloody  spurs  into  the 
sides  of  their  straining  horses.  At  last  Daniel  turned  a  slight 
bend,  reaching  the  stretch  of  road  which  ran  parallel  to  the 
ridge  that  shut  Bluff  City  from  sight.  Across  that  bluff-fronted 
ridge  it  was  but  a  scant  quarter  of  a  mile  to  safety,  but  by  the 
highway  there  was  yet  nearly  three  times  that  distance  to  go. 
Daniel's  breath  was  coming  loud  and  hoarse;  he  could  not  hold 
out  long.  He  stumbled.  The  Parson  brought  him  to  a  quick 
halt  and  said  in  a  shaking  voice: 

"The  horse  is  falling!  Jump,  Nathan,  and  run!  Take 
that  trail  over  the  ridge;  the  bushes  '11  hide  ye.  Run  and  raise 
.the  alarm!" 

Nathan  understood  instantly.     He  was  familiar  with  the 


338  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

trail,  having  often  crossed  it  with  his  mother  in  their  evening 
walks.  Sliding  from  his  perch,  he  dodged  into  the  bushes  like 
a  frightened  rabbit.  He  had  got  his  breath  again,  and  fled 
up  the  slope,  crying  in  very  terror  for  the  Parson  and  poor 
William  who  had  been  left  behind.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  make 
his  voice  heard  in  town! 

As  Nathan  dived  into  the  bushes  overhanging  the  trail, 
the  Parson  again  started  Daniel  on  his  mad  race.  It  was  but 
half  a  dozen  breaths  the  distressed  old  horse  had  .got  in  his 
pause,  but  they  helped;  and  besides  some  of  the  burden  tax- 
ing his  strength  had  been  taken  off.  He  stretched  away,  the 
Parson's  arm  rising  and  falling  as  he  plied  the  frayed  hick- 
ory. But  the  blows  served  only  to  keep  the  straining  charger 
up  to  his  former  speed;  he  was  doing  the  best  he  could.  They 
had  gone  perhaps  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  when  the  pursuers 
swept  around  the  bend  behind  them,  and  a  clattering  volley 
of  shots  rang  out  on  the  still  air.  But  they  went  wild,  and 
seemed  not  to  reach  the  mark.  Frightened  by  the  strange  noise, 
Daniel  aroused  himself,  and  putting  all  his  scared  wits  into 
one  wild  burst  of  speed  he  seemed  to  fly. 

The  Parson  was  straining  William  close,  and  had  his  eyes 
glued  upon  the  end  of  the  ridge  around  which  the  road  turned. 
How  far  it  yet  seemed  to  be!  Yet  Daniel  was  drawing  toward 
it,  nearer  and  nearer.  Suddenly  William  uttered  a  squeaking 
cry. 

"What  is  it,  my  son?"  asked  the  Parson  in  a  strained  voice 
as  his1  arm  rose  and  fell. 

"The  saddle-horn's  a-hurtin'  me!"  gasped  William. 


DANIEL  TO  THE  RESCUE.  339 

Pounding  Daniel's  sides  with  his  heels,  the  Parson  placed 
the  switch  between  his  teeth  and  reached  down  to  lift  William 
to  an  easier  position.  The  boy's  legs  were  flying  wildly  about 
with  the  lunges  of  the  horse,  and  just  as  the  Parson  lifted  him 
another  crash  of  shots  rang  out  behind  them,  sending  the  Par- 
son's heart  into  his  mouth,  while  one  bullet  all  too  close  lifted 
the  hat  from  his  head.  Zipping  of  bullets  was  heard  all  about 
them,  and  a  shot  grazed  one  of  William's  tossing  legs,  making 
it  feel  as  if  a  hot  iron  had  been  laid  across  it.  The  terrified 
boy  gave  one  eldritch  screech,  and  clung  to  his  father  with 
both  hands. 

With  a  groan  and  muttered  "God  have  mercy!"  the  Par- 
son swung  William  astride  in  front  of  him  and  bent  low,  com- 
pletely shielding  the  boy  with  his  own  great  body.  Then 
snatching  the  switch  from  his  mouth,  he  rained  such  a  shower 
of  blows  upon  Daniel's  withers  as  made  the  straining  old  horse 
groan,  and  put  his  last  remaining  strength  into  his  flight. 

"We're  gittin'  nigh  town,  Cap!"  called  one  of  the  pur- 
suers to  the  leader  after  the  last  shots.  "There  's  danger  ahead! 
How  fur  ye  goin'  to  chase  the  man?" 

"D — n  the  danger!  Chase  him  to  h — 1,  and  see  that  he 
gets  there!"  was  the  furious  reply. 

With  neck  and  head  stretched  forward,  his  nostrils  flam- 
ing red,  Daniel  galloped  toward  the  end  of  the  long  ridge, 
and  finally  swung  round  it  with  a  deep  groan.  Then  from  the 
Parson's  straining  heart  burst  a  fervent  "Thank  God!"  For 
there,  not  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  was  a  body  of  the  home- 
guard  cavalry,  thirty  in  number.  They  had  been  out  on  early 


340 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


morning  drill,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  had  heard  the  volleys 
fired  at  the  fleeing  Parson;  at  a  word  of  command  from  the 
leader,  they  started  in  a  swinging  gallop  to  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

"Guerrillas,  Men!"  shouted  the  Parson  as  he  neared 
them.  "Ride!  ride!  You  '11  get  them!" 

And  as  if  to  confirm  his  words  some  of  the  band  behind 
him  dashed  into  sight  at  the  bend  of  the  road.  But  seeing  the 
danger  ahead  they  quickly  wheeled  their  horses  and  started  on 
the  back  track. 

"Forward!"  shouted  the  home-guard  captain;  and  un- 
slinging  their  carbines  as  they  rode,  the  guard  set  out  in  hot 
pursuit  of  the  daring  bandits.  In  a  few  moments  a  fusillade 
from  behind  the  ridge  told  that  the  guerrillas  with  their  blown 
horses  had  fallen  into  the  trap,  and  were  likely  to  pay  for  their 
temerity. 

The  early  risers  of  Bluff  City  were  now  treated  to  a 
strange  sight.  Bareheaded,  and  holding  William  in  his  arms, 
the  Parson  galloped  through  the  street  and  made  straight  for 
Dr.  Parker's  office. 


A  STRANGE  SIGHT. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
THE  PARSON'S  ANGUISH. 

DOCTOR  PARKER'S  office  stood  in  his  yard,  a  little 
to  one  side  of  his   residence.     The   doctor  himself 
was  at  breakfast,  when,  glancing  through  the  win- 
dow, he  saw  the  Parson  with  his  strange  burden  at 
the  gate,  and  he  hastened  forth  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

t  Swinging  from  his  saddle,  and  not  even  stopping  to  throw 
the  reins  over  the  hitching-post,  the  Parson  pushed  open  the 
gate  and  went  with  long  strides  toward  the  office.     When  left 
to  himself  Daniel  stood  still  with  his  trembling  legs  wide  apart, 
head  bent  low,  sides  pounding  and  panting,  while  the 
sweat  trickled  and  dropped  from  him  in  numberless 
streams.     He  did  not  move  until  one  of  the  neighbors 
who  had  run  up  took  the  saddle  off  him,  rubbed  him 
down  and  led  him  away. 

When   Doctor  Parker  had  opened  his  office  j 
door  the  Parson  carried  William  in  and  laid  him         THE  HoRSE  STOOD  STILL- 
down  upon  a  sofa. 

"We  Ve  been  chased  by  bushwhackers,  Doctor,"  he  ex- 
plained hurriedly.  "They  shot  at  us  twice;  the  boy  's  hit  some- 
where." 

William  was  so  scared  he  looked  silly;  and  his  exhaustion 

341 


342  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

was  so  complete  that  he  had  ceased  even  to  tremble.  He  lay 
limp  as  a  rag  where  the  Parson  had  placed  him,  and  stared 
about  with  big  eyes  in  which  the  fright  of  his  thrilling  ex- 
perience yet  glared. 

Doctor  Parker  hastily  stripped  off  his  clothing.  A  bloody 
smear  across  his  trousers'  leg  quickly  showed  where  the  bullet 
had  grazed  him.  Hurried  examination  showed  that  this-  was 
the  only  hurt  the  boy  had  received.  Doctor  Parker  straight- 
ened up  and  said  in  cheerful  tones  to  the  fear-ridden  Parson: 

"It's  but  a  slight  scratch.  No  danger  whatever.  The 
clip  will  only  be  sore  for  a  little  time;  that's  all." 

At  these  comforting  words  the  Parson's  nerves  began  to 
relax,  and  a  sigh  of  intense  relief  burst  from  his  heart.  Lay- 
ing one  of  his  hands  upon  William's  forehead  he  asked: 

"Do  you  feel  all  right  now,  my  son?"  and  the  quivering 
tenderness  so  unusual  to  his  tones  made  William  cry. 

By  this  time  a  buzzing  crowd  of  excited  people  had 
gathered  at  the  gate,  and  two  or  three  men  had  made  their  way 
into  the  office.  All  kinds  of  wild  rumors  were  afloat.  News 
had  spread  that  the  town  was  being  attacked;  that  the  Parson 
and  his  boys  had  been  shot  to  death,  and  everybody  was  de- 
manding more  information. 

"You  'd  better  go  and  tell  them  all  about  it,  Parson,"  said 
Doctor  Parker,  glancing  apprehensively  through  the  window 
at  the  gathering  neighbors.  "They'll  all  be  crowding  in  here 
to  find  out  what's  the  matter  if  you  don't.  I  '11  take  care  of 
the  boy.  He  's  all  right." 

At  this  suggestion  the  Parson,  followed  by  those  who  had 


THE  PARSON'S  ANGUISH.  343 

entered  the  office,  went  out  to  reassure  the  uneasy  crowd.  He 
explained  in  brief  manner  what  had  happened  as  far  as  he 
knew  it;  and  told  the  gaping  listeners  that  a  little  squad  of 
the  home-guards  had  already  gone  in  pursuit  of  the  daring 
guerrillas. 

Meantime  at  the  parsonage  a  little  distance  away,  Eunice, 
Louise  and  Ruth  had  missed  the  boys,  and  were  already  be- 
wildered to  learn  that  they  were  absent  from  home.  When  a 
neighbor  led  Daniel  wet  and  exhausted  into  the  lot,  they  all 
rushed  out,  and  learned  some  of  the  absurd  rumors  that  were 
flying  about,  and  were  also  informed  that  the  Parson  was  at 
the  Doctor's  office. 

Crying  and  distressed  by  great  fear  they  hastened  across 
lots,  reaching  the  Doctor's  premises  as  the  Parson  was  telling 
his  tale  of  escape  to  the  thunder-struck  crowd.  The  people 
made  way  for  them,  and  after  a  few  soothing  words,  the  Par- 
son directed  them  to  go  in  and  looked  after  William. 

They  then  hurried  to  the  office,  but  had  not  been  there 
a  minute  before  Louise  ran  frantically  back  down  the  path 
crying  aloud  with  anxious  face: 

"Oh,  pa!    Where  is  Nathan?" 

The  Parson  gave  a  great  start,  and  his  face  blanched. 

"Did  n't  he  get  home?  The  horse  was  failing,  and  Na- 
than started  over  the  trail  across  the  ridge  yonder,"  he  fal- 
tered in  reply.  Then  as  renewed  fear  gripped  his  heart/ 
he  clenched  his  great  hands  and  groaned  as  if  to  himself. 
"Could  those  butchers  have  caught  sight  of  the  poor  boy  and 
chased  him?"  -WHERE  is 

NATHAN?" 


344  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

At  these  words  Louise  uttered  a  frightened  cry,  and  sev- 
eral of  the  sympathetic  women  gathered  about  her.  But 
the  Parson  tore  open  the  gate,  and  followed  by  a  score  of  the 
startled  crowd  ran  in  the  direction  by  which  Nathan  should 
have  reached  town. 

Most  of  those  who  followed  were  directed  to  go  along 
the  highway  around  the  ridge,  and  the  few  remaining  fol- 
lowed the  Parson  along  the  trail  leading  across  it.  These  were 
urged  to  scatter  and  search  the  ridge,  while  with  a  growing 
dread  clutching  at  his  heart  the  Parson  hurried  on  the  trail, 
going  its  entire  length  without  seeing  anything  of  the  missing 
boy. 

With  a  bitter  burst  of  prayer  upon  his  lips,  he  turned  back 
at  the  highway  to  retrace  his  steps.  Unconsciously  the  habits 
of  his  old  hunting  days  took  hold  upon  him,  and  he  bent  over, 

% 

looking  for  any  traces  upon  the  narrow  trail.  Nearly  at  the 
top  of  the  ridge  his  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  boy's  footprints 
in  a  space  of  sand;  and  with  anxious  heart  he  slowed  his  steps, 
scanning  everything  closely  as  he  moved  along. 

Meanwhile,  what  of  Nathan? 

When  he  had  slid  from  Daniel's  back  and  taken  the  trail, 
the  fleeing  urchin  felt  no  sense  of  peril  for  himself;  and  in- 
deed there  was  none  from  the  rear.  The  pursuers  had  not 
seen  his  movements.  Nathan's  clamoring  fright  was  for  Wil- 
liam and  the  Parson,  and  as  he  fled  along  the  bush-hidden 
path  every  nerve  in  him  was  strung  with  anxiety. 

Scarcely  had  he  gained  the  top  of  the  ridge  when  a  crash 
of  rifles  rang  out  from  the  road  below,  making  his  heart  jump 


25 


Looking  into  the  White  Face- 


THE  PARSON'S  ANGUISH.  345 

into  his  throat.  He  stopped  as  if  one  of  those  bullets  had 
stricken  him,  and  listened  with  bated  breath.  Only  the  sound 
of  hammering  hoofs  could  now  be  heard,  and  this  astonished 
him,  for  he  supposed  that  the  Parson  and  William  might  have 
been  killed. 

With  hot  tears  stinging  his  eyes,  he  stretched  away  once 
more  across  the  broad  top  of  the  ridge,  scarcely  able  to  see 
the  trail.  No  doubt  all  would  have  gone  well  with  him  if 
only  he  had  more  closely  watched  his  footsteps.  But  the  trail 
ran  alongside  a  steep  ravine  ten  or  twelve  feet  deep,  and  Na- 
than caught  his  feet  in  a  trailing  vine,  pitching  headlong  over 
the  gully  and  snatching  frantically  at  everything  within  reach. 
The  bushes  grasped  at  gave  way,  and  he  rolled  to  the  very  bot- 
tom of  the  decline.  Even  then,  however,  he  might  have  es- 
caped with  a  few  bruises,  but  his  head  struck  a  stone  with  a 
cruel  thump  and  the  boy  lay  still. 

When  the  men  who  had  followed  him  overtook  the  Par- 
son, they  found  him  kneeling  in  the  trail,  holding  Nathan  in 
his  arms.  The  boys  eyes  were  closed,  and  his  hair  matted 
with  blood  from  a  cut  on  the  temple.  He  showed  no  sign  of 
life,  and  his  head  hung  limply  upon  the  arm  that  held  him; 
the  Parson  was  looking  stonily  into  his  white  face,  and  the 
iron  lips  were  loose  wfth  growing  grief. 

Willing  and  strong  arms  took  turns  in  carrying  the  un- 
conscious boy  hastily  back  to  town.  The  crowd  about  Dr. 
Parker's  office  had  dispersed,  and  after  his  leg  had  been  bound 
up,  William  had  been  taken  home,  the  girls  sobbing  and  cry- 
ing as  they  went. 


346  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Someone  opened  the  gate,  and  the  Parson  hurried  with 
his  limp  burden  into  the  Doctor's  office.  His  voice  was 
cracked,  dry  and  hoarse,  as,  laying  the  boy  down,  he  said: 

"Here  is  Nathan,  Doctor;  is  he  dead?" 

When  he  saw  the  youth's  pale,  blood-smeared  face, 
Doctor  Parker  turned  very  grave.  After  closing  and  lock- 
ing the  door,  he  hastily  stripped  off  Nathan's  upper  gar- 
ments; then  he  felt  for  the  boy's  pulse,  and  finally  laid  his 
ear  over  the  heart. 

The  now  overwrought  Parson  dropped  upon  his  knees  at 
Nathan's  head,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  trembling  hands.  In 
his  heart  there  was  a  terrible,  despairing  cry,  and  his  breath 
came  thick  while  the  awful  suspense  seemed  to  weigh  him 
down  as  with  a  leaden  cloud. 

In  a  little  time  the  Doctor  turned  one  crooked  eye  upon 
the  bowed,  shaken  man,  and  said  in  a  tone  meant  to  be  assur- 
ing: 

"Don't  give  way  so,  Parson;  the  boy  is  not  dead." 

Then  the  Parson  raised  his  grief-lined  face  and  in  a  man- 
ner that  might  have  melted  the  hardest  heart  prayed  to  the 
busy  doctor;  and  no  petition  he  had  ever  addressed  to  his 
Heavenly  Father  had  in  it  more  of  fervor  and  heart  hunger: 

"Save  him,  Doctor;  he  must  not  die!  You  don't  know 
all  that  is  in  my  heart,  and  I  can't  tell  you  now.  I  have  n't 
much  of  this  world's  wealth,  but  you  can  have  all  I  own  if 
you  save  him  for  me!" 

And  the  tender-hearted,  cross-eyed  doctor,  who  was  sus- 
pected by  many  as  being  an  unbeliever  and  an  infidel,  felt 


THE  PARSON'S  ANGUISH.  347 

his  own  throat  constrict,  while  a  lost  tear  wormed  its  way  out 
of  one  ingrowing  eye,  and  fell  upon  his  grizzled  beard.  With 
mouth  close  pinched  to  keep  his  own  lips  steady,  he  sponged 
off  Nathan's  bruised  head,  and  deftly  dressed  the  ragged  gash 
cut  by  the  stone.  Then  forcing  the  boy's  clenched  teeth  apart 
he  administered  stimulants,  chafing  his  hands  and  occasionally 
holding  aromatic  salts  to  his  nostrils. 

With  eyes  glued  upon  his  boy's  face,  the  Parson  sat  by 
in  silence,  and  presently  the  cordials  administered  began  to 
take  effect;  with  a  sigh  and  weak  murmur  Nathan  feebly  moved 
his  head.  It  was  his  first  sign  of  coming  back  to  life,  and  deep 
down  in  his  heaving  breast  the  Parson  said  "Thank  God!" 

Doctor  Parker  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa,  and  for  some 
moments  watched  the  now  restless  boy,  keeping  steady  fingers 
on  his  pulse.  Then  he  greatly  laid  the  limp  arm  down  and  said 
quietly: 

"We  may  as  well  look  at  the  matter  sensibly,  Parson.  You 
want  to  know  the  truth.  I  think  the  boy  has  had  a  fall  that 
may  result  in  slight  concussion  of  the  brain.  This  blow  on  the 
head  here,  and  the  excitement  he  has  gone  through  is  likely 
to  give  him  brain  fever.  His  symptoms  suggest  that."  Then, 
after  a  hesitating  pause,  he  finished  with,  "I  'd  send  for  his 
mother.  No  one  can  nurse  him  as  she  will." 

At  these  words,  freighted  with  so  much  significance,  the 
Parson's  face  went  gray  and  he  caught  his  breath  chokingly, 
but  his  eyes  were  dry  and  burning.  Together  he  and  the 
doctor  carried  Nathan  to  the  parsonage,  and  that  afternoon's 
boat  took  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Flint. 


348 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


Under  the  influence  of  a  sleeping  potion  the  doctor  ad- 
ministered Nathan  slept  heavily  all  the  rest  of  the  day  and 
night.  But  the  next  morning  his  face  was  flushed,  his  eyes 
bright  and  glittering,  with  pinched  pupils,  and  he  was  mut- 
tering in  the  beginning  of  delirium. 

"It  is  as  I  surmised,  Parson,"  said  Doctor  Parker  as  he 
watched  the  boy's  picking  fingers.  "He  will  have  a  spell  of 
fever.  You  must  keep  him  very  quiet  and  watch  him  closely. 
Yet  don't  look  for  the  worst;  he  is  young  and  Strong  for  his 
age;  that's  in  his  favor." 

When  the  doctor  had  prepared  his  remedies  and  gone 
away,  the  Parson  drew  his  chair  up  to  Nathan's  bedside  and 
sat  there  all  the  long  day,  grudging  it  seemed  any  moment 
that  he  was  called  away. 

The  evening's  boat  brought  Mrs.  Flint  home,  and  a  neigh- 
bor drove  her  to  the  parsonage.  The  girls  met  her  in  a  body, 
and  took  her  up  to  her  own  room,  where  William  had  been 
put  when  brought  home  from  Dr.  Parker's  office.  Hastily 
removing  her  mother's  traveling  wraps  Eunice  began  the  story 
of  the  last  three  days;  and  as  the  terrible  tale  was  unfolded 
to  her  they  saw  her  face  grow  white,  and  her  eyes  become 
wide  and  haunted  by  the  horror  of  it.  Long  before  the 
narrative  was  concluded  she  was  kneeling  by  William, 
the  warm  tears  streaming  down  her 
cheeks,  and  her  mother's  lips  kissing, 
kissing,  kissing  him,  while  he  clung  to 
her  in  a  very  frenzy  of  delight.  And  be- 
tween his  own  sobs  he  told  her  over  and 


1(A  FRENZY  OF  DELIGHT." 


THE  PARSON'S  ANGUISH.  349 

over  how  much  he  had  missed  her;  and  how  he  loved  her;  and 
how  if  she  had  been  at  home  he  never  would  have  run  away, 
and  never  would  do  so  again! 

At  last  she  arose  from  William's  side,  and  said: 
"Stay  here,  girls;  I  want  to  go  down  alone." 
Softly  she  entered  the  sick  room,  and  found  the  Parson 
sitting  silent,  and  watchful  by  the  bed.     All  her  heart  filled 
with  tears  at  sight  of  the  stricken  man.     She  walked  straight 
to  him,  knelt  by  his  side  and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

As  she  approached  him  the  Person  looked  up  with  a  world 
of  woe  in  his  eyes,  and  his  fin.,  lips  quivered;  but  he  said  never 
a  word.  When  she  knelt  at  his  side,  he  wound  his  great  arms 
about  her,  and  kissed  her  very  tenderly,  holding  her  to  his 
breast  in  silence.  The  girls  stole  to  the  door  a  little  later,  and 
saw  the  Parson  folding  her  close  to  his  heart,  her  face  resting 
against  his. 

After  a  time  she  arose  and  bent  over  Nathan.  He  was  in 
a  troubled  sleep,  but  perhaps  some  dream  of  that  tender  kiss 
she  pressed  upon  his  fevered  brow  stole  like  balm  into  his 
darkened  brain.  He  stirred  slightly,  and  whispered  the  one 
dear  word, — "Mother!" 

Then  side  by  side  she  and  the  silent  Parson  began  their 
long,  anxious  watches  together. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 
LINGERING  SHADOWS. 

A'JXIOUS  days  and  sad  nights  fell  upon  the  Parson's 
household.    The  black  cloud  of  terror  that  had  so  sud- 
denly swept  down  upon  them  yet  made  them  shud- 
der, and  the  lingering  shadows  of  it  still  darkened 
their  hearts  with  a  chill  foreboding. 

William's  slight  wound  quickly  began  to  heal,  and  be- 
yond making  him  a  trifle  stiff  and  lame  for  a  few  days,  re- 
sulted in  no  serious  consequences.  All  the  family  were  very 
tender  to  him;  and  when  in  his  growing  loneliness  for  want 
of  Nathan's  company,  he  would  steal  into  the  sick  room  to 
see  his  brother,  the  Parson  would  gaze  at  him  with  such  a 
loving  look  upon  his  rugged  face,  and  speak  to  him  with  such 
a  note  of  love  in  his  tones,  that  William  was  actually  embar- 
rassed. 

A  sharp  and  swift  vengeance  had  overtaken  the  guerrillas. 
Upon  realizing  the  great  danger  with  which  they  had  sud- 
denly come  face  to  face,  they  abandoned  the  chase  of  the  Par- 
son and  strove  to  flee;  but  their  horses  were  already  jaded  and 
breathless  from  the  desperate  speed  to  which  they  had  been 
spurred,  and  the  mounts  of  the  home-guards  were  fresh.  Mem- 
ory of  the  outrage  upon  that  helpless  farmer  up  the  river,  to- 

350 


A  Swift  Vengeance. 


LINGERING  SHADOWS.  351 

gether  with  this  daring  attempt  upon  the  Parson  wrought  the 
pursuers  to  a  pitch  of  instant  fury,  and  they  determined  to 
show  no  mercy. 

Scarcely  had  the  fleeing  bandits  gone  a  half  mile  before 
the  cavalry  were  in  short  range  of  them  and  opened  up  a  run- 
ning fire.  At  the  first  well-aimed  volley  the  tiger-hearted  cap- 
tain, his  aid  and  three  others  of  the  desperately  riding  ma- 
rauders were  killed;  and  a  little  later  another  hail  of  bullets 
reached  others  of  them. 

Realizing  that  the  fight  was  against  them  and  flight  along 
the  road  impossible,  the  remaining  members  of  the  band  dashed 
into  the  woods  and  hills,  several  of  them  sorely  wounded. 
Those  that  remained  unhurt  found  that  progress  on  horseback 
was  too  perilous,  so  abandoned  their  animals  and  escaped  on 
foot.  Only  a  half  dozen  of  their  number  reached  the  boat  in 
waiting  and  crossed  the  river  again. 

Jordan  Blake,  who  had  not  followed  the  main  body,  was 
one  to  get  off  unharmed ;  but  a  few  weeks  later  the  news  came 
to  Bluff  City  that  he  had  been  caught  stealing  horses  in  Mis- 
souri and  was  hanged.  No  regret  was  felt  for  his  merited 
fate;  and  when  the  towns-people  learned  how  he  had  be- 
trayed the  Parson's  movements  to  the  outlaws,  and  was  among 
them  in  their  murderous  attempt,  the  popular  feeling  against 
the  remaining  members  of  the  Blake  family  became  so  vio- 
lent that  they  left  the  village,  and  were  never  afterwards  heard 
of.  This  was  the  last  of  any  guerrilla  raiding  on  the  Illinois 
side  of  the  Mississippi. 

Though  sharp  enough,  Nathan's  attack  of  fever  was  not 


352 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


DOCTOR 
PARKER. 


so  severe  as  had  been  expected ;  and  it  was  fought  stoutly  and 
well  by  Doctor  Parker.  He  came  several  times  a  day,  and 
would  sit  watching  every  symptom  with  a  care  and  anxiety 
that  could  not  have  been  greater  if  he  had  been 
attending  one  of  his  own  family.  Always  he  had 
some  word  of  cheer  and  comfort  for  the  Parson 
and  his  faithful  wife. 

And  the  Parson  was  utterly  tireless.  Seldom 
speaking,  but  with  a  secret  burden  upon 
his  heart,  he  sat  ever  at  the  bedside,  ob- 
servant of  each  movement  the  sick  boy 
made  and  hanging  with  a  dumb  sort  of 
longing  on  the  words  and  ministrations  of 
the  doctor. 

In   the   midst  of   his   special   care  of 

Nathan,  that  good  friend  kept  an  anxious  eye  on  the  Par- 
son, too;  though  how  he  managed  to  do  so  might  puzzle 
an  optician.  He  observed  and  dreaded  the  evident  con- 
dition of  the  Parson's  mind;  and  one  day  said  to  him 
brusquely: 

"Come,  Mr.  Flint;  I've  got  enough  to  do  just  at  pres- 
ent; and  first  you  know  you  '11  be  putting  yourself  on  my  hands. 
You  must  not  be  unreasonable.  The  boy  is  in  no  special  danger 
•yet,  and  I  think  there  won't  be  any.  But  if  you  keep  up  this 
constant  worrying  it  will  break  you  down.  I  want  you  to  go 
to  bed,  and  get  some  sleep." 

The  Parson  would  listen  gloomily  to  these  well-meant  ex- 
hortations, but  they  seemed  to  make  little  impression  on  him. 


LINGERING  SHADOWS. 


353 


He  would  turn  his  tired  eyes  upon  Nathan's  flushed  face,  and 
say  in  a  dry,  hard  voice : 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  me,  Doctor;  save  the  boy!" 

Then  Doctor  Parker  would  grow  more  vexed  than  ever, 
and  sit  frowningly  looking  at  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  evidently 
very  dissatisfied  that  his  warnings  fell  upon  heedless  ears. 
When  Mrs.  Flint  followed  him  out  of  the  room  one  day  he 
said  to  her  very  earnestly: 

"Get  the  man  to  bed  if  you  can.  I  know  he  has  the 
strength  of  a  horse,  but  flesh  and  blood  can't  stand  up  forever 
under  his  load.  I  do  n't  like  the  looks  of  him.  Make  him 
take  some  sleep." 

And  then  lovingly  urged  by  his  secretly  anxious  wife,  who 
assured  him  that  she  would  call  him  at  the  least  hint  of  change, 
the  Parson,  fairly  exhausted,  would  consent  to  lie  down  for 
a  little  time.  But  he  would  never  go  away  from  the  sick  room; 
he  would  stretch  himself  upon  a  sofa  near  by  and  sometimes 
for  two  or  three  hours  would  fall  into  a  restless,  unrefreshing 
slumber.  His  dread  evidently  haunted  even  his  deepest  doze; 
for  suddenly  he  would  come  wide  awake  again,  and  with  a 
sigh  or  groan  get  up  and  seat  him- 
self by  Nathan's  bedside,  seeking 
anxiously  for  any  favorable  change 
that  might  have  taken  place  while 
he  slept. 

During    eight    days    Nathan 
tossed  and  twitched,  in  his  eyes  the 

dull  fires  of  fever,  and  his  mind 

r 

"THE  PARSON  WAS  TIRELESS," 


354  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

wandering  in  the  byways  of  delirium.  But  strange  to  say  none 
of  his  sick  fancies  ever  seemed  to  touch  upon  the  happenings 
immediately  leading  to  his  illness.  It  was  an  odd  medley  of 
Imagination,  mixed  and  muddled  by  the  wayward  kaleidoscope 
of  dreams. 

Most  of  his  vagaries  took  form  in  low  mutterings  to  him- 
self; but  occasionally  towards  night  his  fever  would  rise  and 
then  sometimes  he  would  rave  aloud.  And  it  was  during  these 
worse  attacks  that  the  Parson  seemed  to  feel  remorse  whipping 
him  with  cruel  blows. 

In  his  delirious  struggles  the  boy  would  cry  aloud,  "Do  n't 
whip  me!  It  wasn't  my  fault!  I  didn't  put  the  pig  there; 
I  don't  know  who  did;  don't  whip  me!  Please  don't!"  and 
then  after  a  few  panting  breaths  he  would  turn  stubborn  and 
defiant,  crying  in  a  high,  cracked  voice,  "Lick!  Lick!  Beat 
me!  Kill  me  if  ye  want  to!  Ye  never  did  love  me  anyhow; 
I  want  to  die!" 

Then  the  Parson  was  piteous  to  see.  His  face  would 
blanch  and  seem  to  shrivel:  his  breath  would  catch,  coming 
with  great  gasps,  and  he  would  put  out  both  hands,  groping 
blindly  toward  the  boy's  bed,  while  his  great  body  would 
shake  as  if  with  an  ague.  Such  scenes  nearly  broke  Mrs. 
Flint's  heart.  And  to  quiet  the  boy  she  would  sit  upon  the 
bedside,  the  tears  blinding  her  own  eyes,  and  lay  a  soothing 
palm  upon  the  struggling  invalid's  forehead,  saying  in  her 
calm,  gentle  voice: 

"Nathan,  my  darling  child;  mother's  here!" 

Then  the  restless  boy's  eyes  would  open  in  a  vacant  stare; 


LINGERING  SHADOWS.  355 

but  somehow,  somewhere  in  the  tangled  maze  of  his  thoughts 
he  seemed  to  hear  an  echo  of  her  words;  for  he  would  cease 
his  raving,  and  with  a  faint  moan  say  plaintively,  "I  'm  so 
tired!" 

After  he  had  grown  quiet  again,  the  broken  Parson  would 
get  up  despairingly  from  his  chair  and  walk  the  room,  drag- 
ging with  him  the  burden  of  a  sorrow  that  had  no  tear,  but  whose 
dreary  heat  burned  his  eyes  almost  to  blindness.  During  these 
heavy-footed  pacings  he  would  sometimes  lift  his  arms  and 
groan  "God  forgive  me!"  in  a  little  time  kneeling  by  the  sick 
bed  and  burying  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Very  early  on  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day,  Doctor  Par- 
ker paid  the  sick  boy  a  visit,  and  he  came  again  before  noon. 
His  skilled  observation  saw  signs  of  a  change  in  the  fever,  and 
he  announced  the  cheering  news  that  every  symptom  appeared 
to  be  encouraging.  That  afternoon  the  sickness  began  to  abate, 
and  Nathan  grew  very  quiet,  a  grateful  moisture  breaking  out 
on  his  hot  forehead.  By  night  his  temperature  was  almost 
normal,  and  he  fell  into  a  deep  slumber. 

"It  is  the  best  of  all  medicine  for  him,"  said  Doctor  Parker 
as  he  stood  watching  the  regular  breathing.  "His  brain  needs 
rest.  Let  him  sleep  as  long  as  he  will,  and  see  that  nothing 
disturbs  him." 

The  good  news  lifted  a  mighty  load  off  the  Parson's  weary 
heart,  and  for  the  first  time  in  all  these  trying  days,  his  nerves 
began  to  relax  and  he  could  breathe  again.  During  the  day 
a  man  came  in* to  say  that  Guthrie,  the  sick  parishioner  with 
whom  the  Parson  had  sat  up  during  that  memorable  night, 


356  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

was  dead,  and  the  Parson  was  required  to  attend  the  funeral 
services  the  next  day.  He  would  have  demurred,  but  Doctor 
Parker  urged  his  compliance  with  the  request: 

"Do  n't  hesitate  to  go,  Parson,"  the  anxious  physician  said; 
it  fell  in  with  his  wishes  with  respect  to  the  worn  out  man. 
"The  boy  is  not  in  any  danger,  and  it  will  do  you  great  good  to 
ride  out." 

The  next  morning  Nathan  still  slept  soundly,  and  the  Par- 
son reluctantly  tore  himself  away  to  preach  the  funeral  of  his 
dead  parishioner.  With  what  feelings  he  again  rode  over  that 
stretch  of  road  along  which  the  wild  pursuit  had  followed 
him  may  be  better  imagined  than  described.  His  heart  swelled 
in  his  breast,  and  frequently  he  raised  misty  eyes  to  the  great 
blue  vault  above  him,  while  words  of  immense  thankfulness 
burst  from  his  lips. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  rode  home  again;  and 
all  the  journey  his  father's  thoughts  traveled  fast  ahead,  some- 
times even  winged  with  fear,  as  imagination  clouded  his  mind 
with  dread  of  accidents  to  the  sick  boy  he  had  watched  so  faith- 
fully. 

"He  was  awake  at  four  o'clock,  pa,"  said  Mrs.  Flint  softly 
as  she  and  the  Parson  again  stood  by  Nathan's  bedside.  "He 
ate  some  and  drank  a  glass  of  milk.  The  doctor  says  there 
is  no  danger  any  more,  and  tomorrow  he  '11  be  clear  headed 
again." 

The  Parson  stood  silent  for  a  little  time,  and  then  turned 
to  kiss  the  lips  that  told  him  this  good  news.  "And  that  night 
he  slept;  slept  the  deep,  dead  sleep  of  great  exhaustion,  But 


LINGERING  SHADOWS.  357 

somehow  he  looked  old  and  sallow,  and  the  lines  of  his  face 
seemed  to  have  deepened  and  grown  sharper  by  reason  of  the 
long  strain. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  the 
Parson  wakened  from  his  profound  lethargy;  and  even  after 
so  much  rest  a  strange  lassitude  clung  to  his  nerves,  and  seemed 
to  make  his  powerful  frame  feel  heavy  and  lifeless,  despite 
the  fact  that  the  mental  dread  which  had  weighed  him  down 
was  vastly  lightened.  For  this  much  of  relief,  however,  his 
heart  throbbed  with  gratitude,  and  he  felt  happier  than  for 
many  days.  Strange  for  him  who  had  always  been  so  hearty, 
his  appetite  was  small,  and  after  a  brief  pretense  at  breakfast, 
he  went  straight  to  Nathan's  room. 

"It  is  all  right  now,"  said  Mrs.  Flint  hopefully  as  the 
Parson  stood  and  looked  down  upon  the  quietly  slumbering 
boy.  "He  woke  up  again  last  night,  and  was  very  hungry. 
The  eating  will  give  him  strength;  he  '11  soon  be  up  and  around 
once  more." 

"Did  he  know?"  asked  the  Parson  in  a  hesitating 
voice. 

"Yes.  He  knew  me  at  once,  and  in  a  little  time  every- 
thing came  back  to  him.  His  agitation  made  me  tremble  for 
a  while;  he  tried  to  cling  to  me,  and  fairly  shook  until  I  told 
him  that  you  and  William  had  escaped  without  harm.  I  dared 
not  excite  him,  and  in  a  little  time  he  dozed  off  again.  Just 
as  he  was  about  to  fall  asleep  again  he  whispered,  "I  'm  so 
glad!" 

The  Parson  sat  down  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  as  he 
26 


358  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

gazed  upon  the  wan  countenance  of  his  boy,  his  rugged  face 
melted  into  a  look  of  infinite  tenderness.  Who  could  tell  what 
thoughts  and  emotions  were  storming  his  heart? 

Presently  Nathan  stirred  uneasily,  and  then  all  in  a  mo- 
ment his  eyes  came  wide  open,  and  he  was  looking  full  into 
the  Parson's  face.  The  misty  veil  of  sleep  thinned  away,  and 
very  soon  recollection  shone  clear  in  his  wondering  eyes.  For 
a  little  space  he  was  silent,  and  then  a  shudder  passed  over 
him,  while  one  faint  cry  escaped  his  lips. 

"Oh,  pa!"  and  a  weak  hand  crept  across  the  coverlet  to 
rest  upon  hi*  father's  knee. 

Then  the  Parson's  great  shoulders  began  to  heave;  his 
broad  breast  rose  and  fell  convulsively,  and  lo,  the  long-sealed 
fountain  of  his  tears  gushed  forth  again!  The  Parson  wept! 
Reaching  down  with  his  strong  arms  as  tenderly  as  to  a  babe, 
he  slipped  one  of  them  under  Nathan's  head,  and  the  other 
about  his  waist,  raising  him  gently  and  holding  him  closely  to 
his  bosom,  as  if  the  boy  had  come  back  from  the  dead.  Nathan 
sighed  in  great  content,  and  curled  one  weak  arm  about  his 
father's  neck. 

Like  rain  upon  a  thirsty  land  were  the  Parson's  tears.  They 
softened  all  the  hard,  dry  soil  of  his  nature,  and  melted  his 
harshness  into  a  tender  love  that  was  never  more  to  grow  cold. 
The  boy  lay  very  quiet,  and  when  the  Parson  could  see  again, 
he  found  that  sleep  had  come  once  more  to  the  tired  brain 
which  was  soothed  and  strengthened  by  the  emotion  of  joy  that 
had  fallen  upon  it. 

The   Parson   laid   Nathan   softly  upon   his   pillow   again, 


LINGERING  SHADOWS. 


359 


and  with  a  touch  light  as  love's  longings  could  make  it,  smoothed 
back  the  hair  from  the  sleeper's  forehead.  Then  suddenly 
bending  down  he  pressed  upon  it  a  kiss,  as  tender  as  a  woman's 
and  as  heart-felt  as  a  prayer. 

As  he  sat  up  again  Mrs.  Flint's  hand  crept  into  his  own; 
and  with  a  great  grip  of  it  he  turned  his  face  toward  her  and 
exclaimed : 

"Oh,  Dolly,  thank  God!    Thank  God!" 

It  was  the  sweetheart  name  by  which  he  had  used  to  call 
her  when  life  was  young  and  love  was  warm.  She  had  not  heard 
it  before  for  several  years. 

That  afternoon  Doctor  Parker  came  in :  not  that  there 
was  any  pressing  need  for  him  to  do  so,  but  he  always  liked 
to  know  that  his  work  was  fully  accomplished. 

"God  bless  you,  Doctor,  for  what  you  have  done!"  said 
the  Parson  with  deep  feeling.    "You  have 
been  a  faithful  friend;  I  shall  never  for- 
get it.   Make  out  your  bill  now,  any  time." 

For  some  moments   Doctor  Parker 
made  no   reply.     Those  marvelous  eyes 
of  his  seemed  trying  to   inspect 
his  ears  from  opposite  sides.    He 
was    never    a    fluent    talker,    but 
presently  said  diffidently: 

"Never  mind  about  the  bill, 
Parson.  Credit  it  up  on  your 
salary;  I  haven't  paid  my  quar- 
terage yet." 

"On  DOLLY,  THANK  GOD!" 


360  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Then  after  an  embarrassed  pause  he  went  on: 

"It  was  a  close  shave  at  one  time.  I  was  interested  in  the 
case,  and  proud  of  the  boy.  My  own  youth  was  hard.  The 
old  man  was  very  harsh  with  me.  Never  seemed  to  remem- 
ber that  he  had  once  been  a  boy.  And — Parson, — I  Ve  wanted 
—a  boy — all  my  life,  but  I  never  had  one.  It  has  been  a  great 
grief  to  me  .  .  ."  Then,  as  he  hurriedly  got  up  to  go,  he 
stumblingly  added,  "I  Ve  heard  some  of  the  boy's  talk  while 
he  was  sick.  ...  I  can't  say  what  I  'd  like  to;  but  perhaps  it 's 
just  as  well;  I  guess  you  understand.  .  .  ." 

"I  know,  Doctor!    I  know!"  faltered  the  Parson  solemnly. 

It  was  quite  enough.  The  diffident  doctor,  and  the  now 
changed  Parson  had  said  very  much. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

SORROW  AND  SIGHING. 

_/ 

IT  was  now  the  middle  of  September,  the  beginning  of  a 
prolonged  and  remarkable  Fall.     At  times  a  faint  blue 
haze  seemed  to  creep  over  the  low  hills,  and  a  smell  like 
that  of  burning  leaves  tainted  the  air.     But  the  weather 
was  yet  hot  and  dry,  as  if  the  sultry  August  hours  had  for- 
gotten to  go. 

Spurred  by  his  religious  zeal,  the  Parson  again  took  up 
the  routine  of  his  duty  with  old-time  energy,  but  somehow  the 
depressing  weight  that  had  fallen  upon  him  was  not  lightened. 
His  face  grew  sallow  and  his  frame  gaunter.  One  day  he  rode 
to  one  of  his  preaching  places,  expecting  to  be  gone  over  the 
Sabbath:  but  late  in  the  afternoon  the  household  was  surprised 
by  his  returning  home  again;  and  as  he  dismounted  from  the 
horse  he  tottered  dizzily. 

"I  Ve  had  a  chill,"  he  said  to  his  alarmed  wife.  "Some- 
thing strange  ails  me;  my  head  aches  so  that  I  can  hardly 
see." 

Mrs.  Flint  hurried  him  to  bed,  and  bathed  his  dry  fore- 
head with  tepid  water,  but  by  now  the  growing  ache  had  spread 
all  through  his  bones,  and  he  moved  restlessly,  while  his  mouth 
was  cracked,  parched  and  dry  from  a  rising  fever. 

361 


362  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

Doctor  Parker  was  sent  for,  but  he  was  away  on  another 
call,  and  he  did  not  come  in  until  nearly  bedtime. 

"So!  You  are  bound  to  give  me  a  job,  too,  Parson,"  re- 
marked the  physician  jocularly  as  he  sat  down  by  the  Parson's 

side. 

» 

"It  Joes  seem  so,  Doctor,"  replied  the  Parson  in  a  weary 
tone.  "I've  hardly  known  what  sickness  meant  before;  but 
I'm  feeling  very  bad  just  now.  Maybe  it's  some  passing 
trouble,  though." 

"Well,  we  '11  hope  so,"  responded  the  doctor  with  an  as- 
sumption of  great  confidence  and  ease. 

After  determining  the  patient's  pulse,  and  asking  a  few 
questions,  he  prepared  some  medicine  and  went  away,  prom- 
ising that  he  would  come  again  early  the  following  morning. 
But  all  that  night  the  Parson  tossed  uneasily,  and  slept  but 
little;  and  by  the  time  the  doctor  arrived  next  day,  something 
seemed  to  weigh  the  sick  man  down  as  with  a  leaden  cloud. 
This  time  Doctor  Parker  examined  into  the  case  more  thor- 
oughly. He  asked  many  questions;  how  long  had  the  Parson 
been  feeling  this  way?  How  had  his  appetite  been,  and  when 
did  the  headache  first  come  on?  etc. 

"Oh,  I  hardly  know,  Doctor;  several  days  ago.  Food 
has  n't  tasted  right  for  two  weeks,  and  during  most  of  that 
time  I've  had  a  dull  headache;  but  the  ride  yesterday  made 
my  head  nearly  split.  It  seemed  as  if  I  should  never  be  able 
to  endure  it  until  I  got  home." 

The  doctor  listened  keenly  to  these  words;  his  face  did 
not  alter  its  expression,  but  he  was  thinking  deeply. 


SORROW  AND  SIGHING.  363 

"You  sat  up  with  Guthrie,  and  waited  on  him  before  he 
died,  I  think,"  remarked  the  doctor  presently  in  an  inquiring 
tone. 

"Yes;  I  remained  with  him  over  flight;  it  was  the  day 
before  that  guerrilla  raid;  you  remember  it,"  said  the  Parson 
weakly. 

"Try  to  sleep,  and  do  n't  let  yourself  worry,  Parson," 
urged  the  doctor  earnestly  as  he  took  his  leave.  "You  need 
rest  very  much." 

It  was  not  until  twenty-four  hours  later,  and  after  several 
more  visits  in  which  he  narrowly  watched  the  Parson's  symp- 
toms, that  Doctor  Parker  rendered  his  final  diagnosis.  Dur- 
ing this  time  there  was  no  sign  of  improvement;-  but  rather  a 
steady  increase  of  that  strange  depression,  and  those  rising  fe- 
brile symptoms  that  marked  the  malady. 

"We  Ve  got  a  little  fight  ahead  of  us,  Parson,"  the  doc- 
tor replied  to  the  sick  man's  direct  questions  upon  the  sub- 
ject. "You  have  contracted  the  fever,  and  must  gather  all 
your  will  and  strength.  Perhaps  that  visit  to  Guthrie's  is  the 
cause  of  it;  it's  hard  to  tell." 

At  these  words  the  Parson  looked  at  the  doctor  with  a 
strange  shadow  in  his  eyes.  In  his  voice  and  manner  was  that 
which  gave  the  physician  more  uneasiness  than  did  the  disease 
itself. 

"I  Ve  thought  from  the  first  that  was  it,"  said  the  Parson 
in  a  despondent  voice.  "It  has  been  creeping  on  me  all  the  time, 
and  I  think  it  will  finish  me,  Doctor." 

"Come,  come!     None  of  that!"  exclaimed  Doctor  Parker 


364  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

loudly.  "You  must  n't  think  of  such  a  thing.  There  is  too  much 
to  live  for,  and  your  family  needs  you,  sir.  .  .  .  Do  n't  think 
of  allowing  such  fancies  to  worry  you.  We  '11  fight  the  thing 
through,  and  look  for  the  best." 

"The  Lord's  will  be  done,"  said  the  Parson  very  feebly. 

In  the  presence  of  the  despondent  sick  man,  Mrs.  Flint 
put  on  a  brave  cheerfulness;  but  this  time  she  followed  the 
doctor  out  of  the  room,  and  with  new  fear  contracting  her 
heart  said: 

"Tell  me  the  worst,  Doctor!" 

"I  am  not  going  to  look  for  the  worst,"  was  the  kindly 
reply.  "We  must  none  of  us  expect  it.  Do  n't  take  his  con- 
dition and  fancies  too  much  to  heart.  His  somber  notions  are 
part  of  his  disease.  He  is  badly  poisoned,  and  as  a  result  very 
low  spirited.  Watch  him  closely  and  try  to  cheer  him  all  you 
can;  but  don't  give  way  yourself." 

Though  ever  brave,  tireless  and  self-sacrificing  for  those 
she  loved,  Mrs.  Flint  read  and  felt  in  the  doctor's  kindly  ad- 
monitions something  more  of  his  own  thoughts  and  foresight 
than  he  had  uttered,  enough  indeed  to  make  her  heart 
shrink  with  dread;  and  when  afterwards  she  told  the  rest  of 
the  family  what  had  been  said,  that  threatening  cloud  which 
with  Nathan's  recovery  had  seemed  to  lift  crept  over  them 
again,  haunting  their  anxious  minds  with  the  weight  of  yet 
more  grief  and  trial  to  come. 

And  indeed  the  Parson's  condition  seemed  to  warrant  this 
dark  foreboding.  As  is  the  case  with  most  strong,  healthy 
persons  whom  serious  illness  catches  in  its  relentless  grip,  he 


SORROW  AND  SIGHING.  365 

brooded  over  his  situation  in  a  deeply  despondent  frame  of 
mind.  For  three  days  his  spirits  sank  lower  and  lower,  while 
the  insidious  poison  that  had  crept  into  his  veins  gathered  and 
grew,  tainting  his  very  blood  and  changing  its  vigorous  red 
tide  into  the  ferment  of  fever.  In  the  waning  of  his  strength, 
and  the  misery  of  his  depressed  nerves,  the  Parson  had  an  over- 
powering premonition  that  he  must  die. 

The  doctor  scolded  him  roundly  for  giving  way  to  such 
unhealthy  fancies,  but  he  could  not  drive  them  away  from  the 
clouded  mind.  And  fear  has  in  it  a  vile  contagion.  So  pro- 
found was  the  Parson's  conviction  that  his  end. was  near,  that 
the  hearts  of  his  household  were  touched  and  overshadowed 
by  his  own  creeping  dread. 

One  morning  the  sick  man  asked  the  children  to  leave  him 
alone  with  his  wife,  and  he  talked  with  her  long.  What  passed 
between  them  was  never  known;  but  after  an  hour  Mrs.  Flint 
came  to  the  sickroom  door  and  called  the  girls.  Then  the 
boys,  who  remained  without  in  tearful  waiting,  heard  the  sound 
of  many  sobs,  and  murmurs  of  the  conversation  that  came  to 
them  in  indistinct  fragments. 

Again  the  door  opened,  and  with  the  tears  raining  down 
her  face,  their  mother  came  out  and  took  both  the  boys  in  her 
arms: 

"Come,  boys,"  she  said  presently,  "pa  wants  to  see  you." 

And  they  followed  her  tremblingly,  convulsed  with  sym- 
pathy for  her  grief,  and  the  dread  of  what  was  yet  to  come. 

The  Parson  was  sitting  drooped  and  feeble  upon  the  bed- 
side, and  Ruth  knelt  before  him  with  her  head  upon  his  lap. 


366 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


She  had  wept  her  penitence  to  him,  and  all  her  bitterness  was 
gone.  As  the  two  boys  entered  the  room,  the  Parson  looked 
up  at  them  with  a  world  of  grief  in  his  hollow  eyes.  His 

strong  chin  quivered,  and  in  a 
very  passion  of  tenderness  he  put 
an  arm  about  each,  drawing  them 
down  on  either  side  of  him  upon 
the  bed. 

"My  precious  boys!"  he 
said;  and  his  full  heart  seemed 
to  melt  within  him,  as  a  great 
flood  of  memory  swept  his  mind. 
They  both  clung  to  him 
closely,  burying  their  faces  upon 
his  bosom,  and  between  his  vio- 
lent sobs  William  jerked  out 
fearfully: 

"Oh,  pa,  don't  you  go  and  leave  us!  We  jist  can't  live 
without  you!" 

The  Parson  pressed  his  sorrowful  face  down  upon  their 
heads,  and  presently  said  in  a  tone  of  quivering  intensity: 

"You  saved  your  old  father's  life,  my  sons;  and  that  when 
he  least  deserved  it!" 

"Do  n't!  Do  n't,  pa!"  cried  Nathan  shrilly.  "I  'd  a-died 
if  them  guerrillas  had  caught  you!  Oh,"  and  he  shuddered 
with  the  very  memory  of  it, — "think  of  them  awful  hogs 
a-eatin'  you !'' 

How  their  helpless  grief  swallowed  them  up!     How  their 


"SITTING  DROOPED  AND  FEEBLE." 


SORROW  AND  SIGHING. 


367 


sobs,  tears  and  prayers  mingled  together  as  one!  For  a  long 
time  none  of  them  could  speak  a  word;  then  as  they  all  knelt 
about  the  Parson's  knees,  the  mother  prayed  aloud,  asking  God 
to  spare  the  life  of  her  husband,  and  the  father  of  her  children: 
and  while  the  precious  incense  of  her  heart  ascended  to  Heaven, 
the  violent  storm  of  their  sorrow  calmed  into  a  gentle  rain,  and 
the  wild  gusts  of  grief  died  down. 

Already  the  Parson's  strength  was  taxed  by  his  great  emo- 
tions, and  his  wife  persuaded  him  to  lie  down  again;  but  still 
he  reached  out  and  held  the  boys,  each  by  a  hand. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  want  to  say  to  you,  my  sons,"  he 
quavered  at  last  in  a  strong  effort  to  restrain  his  tears.  "I  Ve 
wanted  to  say  it  always,  only  I  forgot.  And  if  you  forget  every- 
thing else  I  have  ever  done  or  said  to  you,  I  want  you  to  re- 
membqr  this ;  I  love  you,  and  I  always  have  loved  you,  no  mat- 
ter how  poorly  I  have  shown  it!" 

As  he  uttered  these  words  with  a  burden  of  pathos  and 
tenderness,  a  great  sob  seemed  to  sweU  in  his  throat  and  choke 
him.  The  boys  clung  to  him  des- 
perately, and  in  a  frantic  return 
of  his  fear  William  raised  his 
head  and  cried: 

"Oh,  pa,  you  ain't  goin'  to  die, 
are  you?" 

"God  knows,  my  dear  boy," 
said  the  Parson  chokingly.  "But 
if  it  be  His  will  that  I  shall  not 
get  well,  I  want  you  and  Nathan 

I  LOVE  You!" 


368  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

to  take  care  of  your  dear  mother."  Then  after  a  pause,  "She 
has  always  shown  her  love  for  you,  and  I  know  you  Ve 
always  given  her  yours;  she  has  deserved  it  far  more  than  I 
have." 

Having  uttered  these  words,  so  full  of  bitter  remorse  and 
self-reproach,  the  Parson  closed  his  eyes,  and  lay  silent;  and 
presently  exhausted  by  this  prolonged  tax  upon  his  strength,  he 
seemed  to  fall  into  a  restful  doze.  At  a  low  word  from  their 
mother  the  children  noiselessly  left  the  room,  praying  in  their 
very  hearts  that  the  life  now  so  precious  to  them  all  might  be 
spared. 

Then  followed  thirty  long  days  of  fever;  thirty  days  of 
slow,  sinister  dying.  For  at  the  time  a  change  for  the  better 
had  been  expected,  a  sharp  relapse  came  on,  and  the  creeping 
poison  seemed  to  spread  with  new  vigor  through  the  sick  man's 
body.  And  when  a  second  time  the  grim  shadow  of  calamity 
took  its  grip,  the  last  hopes  of  the  stricken  watchers  seemed 
gone,  although  Doctor  Parker  still  tried  to  encourage  and 
cheer  them  in  every  way  he  could. 

The  gloomy  days  dragged  along.  Soldiers  came  home 
from  the  war,  some  wounded,  some  dying,  and  some  with  ma- 
lignant fevers  that  affected  many  healthy  persons  in  the  little 
village. 

Doctor  Parker  was  kept  busy  night  and  day;  and  the  won- 
der of  it  was  that  he  so  well  endured  the  long  strain.  He  seemed 
to  have  nerves  of  steel,  and  endurance  that  knew  no  limit. 
When  and  how  he  managed  to  sleep  no  one  could  guess;  for  he 
ever  went  his  dreary  rounds,  and  fear-ridden  hearts  clung  to 


The  Parson's  Wife. 


SORROW  AND  SIGHING.  369 

him  as  their  last  hope  for  the  loved  ones  over  whom  their  eyes 
wept  tears. 

Three  times  each  day  he  visited  the  Parson,  and  would 
sit  by  his  bedside,  staring  at  him  with  those  eyes  askew,  and 
searching  for  any  and  every  symptom  on  which  he  might  build 
a  hope.  The  neighbors  were  tender  and  kind.  Daddy  Case, 
who  lived  nearest  them,  a  dear  old  soul,  together  with  others 
of  the  church  came  with  loving  services  to  sit  up  with  the  sick 
man,  and  attend  his  wants.  For  everyone  felt  great  admiration 
and  respect  for  the  Parson,  even  though  he  had  not  won  their 
deepest  love. 

But  though  everything  was  done  that  human  skill  could 
devise,  the  stubborn  malady  that  had  borne  down  the  sturdy 
man  would  have  its  course.  Little  could  be  done  but  sustain 
his  strength  as  far  as  possible,  and  await  the  results  of  time. 

Rapidly  the  sullen  tide  of  the  fever  gathered  and  rose, 
until  finally  its  subtle  undertow  broke  the  Parson's  hold  upon 
his  present,  and  swept  him  helplessly  into  the  swamps  of  vagary 
and  delirium.  Then  the  tropic  heat  of  it  reached  his  rugged 
brain,  and  mazed  his  once  clear  mind  in  a  tangled  jungle  of 
wayward  fancies.  Reason  was  lost  in  the  thick  darkness,  and 
into  the  overwrought  brain  trooped  numberless  ghosts  of  by- 
gone years.  The  strong  man  tossed  and  talked,  muttered  and 
raved.  He  preached  sermon  after  sermon,  sang  song  after 
song,  prayed  prayer  after  prayer,  and  pronounced  the  benedic- 
tion over  a  thousand  spectral  congregations. 

Thirty  long  days  the  fever  crawled  and  clung.  It  flowed 
through  his  veins,  wasted  his  great  body,  and  crept  a  smoulder- 


370  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

ing  fire  to  his  very  finger-tips,  until  his  skin  was  dry  as  dead 
leaves.  In  the  slow  fierce  wasting  of  his  strength,  his  voice  took 
on  a  funereal  tone  of  solemnity  and  pathos.  And  when  in  the 
fancied  routine  of  his  duties,  he  thought  he  was  standing  by 
some  open  grave,  reading  the  services  over  the  dead,  his  mighty 
wailing  voice  boomed  through  the  silent  house  in  awful  dis- 
tinctness : 

''Earth  to  earth!    Dust  to  dust!    Ashes  to  ashes!" 

None  who  heard  him  thus  ministering  to  the  shades  they 
believed  he  must  soon  join  ever  forgot  the  solemnity  of  it,  and 
hope  died  utterly  out  of  the  hearts  of  his  weeping  wife  and 
children. 

Sometimes  from  very  weariness  of  brain  and  tongue  he 
would  fall  into  an  uneasy  doze,  lying  supine,  and  often  un- 
consciously picking  at  the  covering  on  the  bed.  Then  with  his 
sunken  eyes,  and  gaunt,  sallow  face,  his  look  was  that  of  one 
already  shadowed  by  Death's  dark  wings.  But  the  smoulder- 
ing fire  would  flash  up  again,  and  the  dreary  round  of  dream 
and  delirium  go  on  anew. 

For  thirty  long,  dark  days  he  thus  writhed  and  tossed, 
shouted  and  sang,  preached  and  prayed.  Then  one  evening  as 
his  faithful  wife  sat  by  his  side,  utterly  worn  out  and  nearly 
dead  with  the  long  strain  of  watching,  and  the  anguish  of  hopes 
deferred,  the  stubborn  fever  burned  itself  out,  flickered  and  died. 

The  Parson  sank,  collapsed,  and  gave  one  faint  gurgling 
groan.  Aroused  by  the  strange  sound,  Mrs.  Flint  sprang  to 
his  bedside,  calling  loudly  for  help,  which  quickly  came.  At 
a  word  from  her  mother  Eunice  ran  for  the  doctor,  waiting 


SORROir  AXD  SIGHING. 


37' 


neither  for  bonnet  nor  shawl.  Mrs.  Flint  raised  the  Parson's 
head,  poured  brandy  over  his  neck  and  chest,  forcing  some 
powerful  cordial  between  his  colorless  lips. 

The  Parson  whined  in  his  throat,  made  one  feeble  effort 
and  swallowed.  But  his  face  went  white;  his  head  rolled  loosely 
upon  the  loving  arm  that  held  it;  the  ghost  of  a  sigh  fluttered 
between  his  bearded  lips,  and  then  there  was  utter  silence.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  sick  man's  premonitions  had  fallen  true,  and 
that  the  Parson  was  gathered  to  his  fathers. 

All  that  day  Doctor  Parker  himself  had  been  uneasy;  for 
his  long  experience  warned  him  that  some  kind  of  a  crisis  was 
near.  As  Eunice  rushed  from  the  house  to  call  him,  he  was 
already  approaching  the  parsonage  on  his  nightly  visit.  See- 
ing the  flying  form  of  the  girl,  he  hastened  his  own  footsteps: 

"Oh,  Doctor,  run!"  cried  the 
frantic  messenger.  "  He  is  dead 
or  dying!" 

And  even  Doctor  Parker  who 
had  seen  so  many  die,  and  who 
had  looked  upon  death  in  num- 
berless forms,  drew  his  breath 
hard,  and  his  countenance  fell  as 
he  stood  by  the  Parson's  side,  and 
saw  the  mask-like  face  of  the  unconscious  man. 

His  fingers  quickly  sought  the  pulse,  and  then  he  bent  his 
cheek  over  the  silent  man's  lips  for  any  sign  of  breath  that 
might  be  left  in  him.  Suddenly  he  stood  up  and  spoke  sharply 

to  the  sobbing  wife  and  girls  about  him. 
27 


'On,  DOCTOR,  RUN!" 


372  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"There  's  a  flicker  of  life  left!  Warm  water  and  hot  cloths 
quick!  We  must  fight  to  save  him!" 

Flying  feet  and  willing  hands  soon  brought  everything 
that  was  accounted  needful ;  and  all  that  long  night  the  faith- 
ful doctor  sat  by  the  Parson's  bedside,  steadily  and  stubbornly 
battling  for  his  patient's  life.  With  cordial  and  heat,  and 
gentle  chafings  he  guarded  and  nourished  the  feeble  spark  of 
vitality  that  lingered  in  the  wasted  body  that  it  might  not  be 
extinguished.  Little  by  little  he  loosened  the  icy  fingers  that 
strove  to  drag  the  utterly  helpless  man  into  the  shadows  of 
the  tomb.  And  never  did  anyone  get  so  near  the  land  of  the 
leal  and  yet  return.  It  was  not  until  the  sun  was  well  up  on 
the  following  morning  that  the  doctor  breathed  a  sigh  of  real 
relief  and  hope.  Then  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  the  joy 
of  his  own  victory  he  said: 

"I  think  we  '11  win.  It  was  the  closest  call  I  ever  knew. 
But  if  something  unforeseen  does  n't  happen,  you  may  yet  have 
him  with  you  sound  and  well,  Mrs.  Flint.  He  has  come  back 
from  the  dead!" 

And  oh,  how  the  streams  of  sunshine  warmed  the  hearts 
of  the  Parson's  household  that  glad  day! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
SUNSHINE  AFTER  STORM. 

IT  was  nearly  six  weeks  after  the  Parson's  illness  described 
in  our  last  chapter,  and  the  time  lacked  but  a  few  days 
to  Christmas. 

When  that  anxious  night  had  passed,  in  which  by  in- 
finite care  and  constant  watchfulness  Doctor  Parker  had  kept 
alive  the  expiring  spark  of  life  left  in  the  Parson's  exhausted 
frame,  the  sick  man  slowly  but  surely  crept  back  into  the  land  of 
the  living.  Weak  as  water,  and  for  several  days  helpless  as  a 
babe,  he  was  nursed  with  untiring  tenderness  and  vigilance. 
Always  a  man  of  clean  habits  though,  and  endowed  by  nature 
with  an  iron  strength  of  constitution,  just  as  soon  as  the  vital 
tide  set  in  to  flow  again  he  began  to  make  rapid  progress  to- 
wards recovery  of  flesh  and  vigor. 

But  after  all,  what  a  blessing  that  fever  had  proven  to 
him!  When  his  mind  cleared,  and  the  light  of  reason  again 
illuminated  his  thought,  the  very  nature  in  him  seemed  to  have 
undergone  a  change.  All  the  hard  crust  of  his  disposition  had 
been  burnt  away;  all  the  harshness  and  stern  fibre  of  him  had 
been  softened  and  rendered  sweet  by  his  near  approach  to 
death.  So  close  had  he  come  to  Heaven  that  some  of  its  warmth 
and  love  had  enriched  his  heart  with  a  patience  and  loving 
kindness  that  never  again  died  out  of  his  life. 

373 


374 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS, 


The  Parson  was  truly  a  new  man.  And  as  day  by  day  his 
lost  strength  returned,  the  mellow  light  of  a  great  love  trans- 
figured his  face  with  an  expression  of  indescribable  sweetness 
and  joy.  Everyone  about  him  felt  the  wonderful  change,  and 
rejoiced. 

Love  always  has  an  irresistible  drawing  power  in  it:  and 
as  the  Parson's  newly  awakened  affections  grew  and  twined 
about  the  members  of  his  responsive  household,  who  so  happy 
and  light-hearted  as  they! 

Mrs.  Flint  quickly  recuperated  her  strength,  and  went 
about  her  duties  singing  those  sweet  old  hymns  that  bubble  up 
in  the  glad  heart  like  echoes  from  heaven.  The  girls  vied 
in  petting  and  caring  for  the  convalescent;  Ruth  in  particular 
was  always  hovering  about  his  chair,  trying  to  make  him  more 
comfortable.  She  would  brush  his  hair,  bring  him  warmer 
wraps,  and  always  insist  upon  carrying  him  his  meals  before 
he  was  able  to  sit  at  the  table.  And  as  to  Nathan  and  William, 
the  doting  father  for  a  long  time  could  hardly  bear  to  have 
them  out  of  his  sight.  Every  barrier  between  him  and  them 
was  gone  forever;  all  the  loving  father  in  him  was  glowing, 
and  never  again  while  he  lived  did  the  Parson 
lay  the  rod  across  their  backs.  He  seemed  to 
have  drifted  far  away  from  Solomon's  old  time 
methods,  and  reached  a  newer  inspiration,  where 
"Love  endureth  long,  and  is  kind."  No 

'f— V 

longer  were  the  boys  afraid  of  him,  dread- 
ing and  shrinking  from  his  stern  frown  of 

rebuke.     And  the  natural  love  in  their  own 

JJPL 

O)\V  M.ESCIS'.. 


I 


I 


SUNSHINE  AFTER  STORM.  375 

hearts  sprang  up  and  flourished  in  the  glowing  warmth  of  their 
father's  affection. 

But  this  was  only  a  part  of  it.  Not  only  did  the  mem- 
bers of  his  own  family  feel  this  renewed  awakening  of  his  love 
and  tenderness,  but  when  he  preached  in  the  old  church  six 
weeks  after  the  fever  left  him,  the  whole  congregation  was 
touched  as  never  before1,  feeling  their  hearts  melted  by  the  simple 
words  he  spoke,  and  the  marvelous  new  fire  that  seemed  to  ema- 
nate from  him.  It  was  like  a  pentecostal  season,  and  the  happy 
tears  and  glowing  responses  to  his  thrilling  message  showed  that 
the  people  were  warmed  by  the  fires  of  his  own  soul. 

"It's  a  good  thing  for  us  all  to  get  religion  again,  isn't 
it,  Parson?"  said  Daddy  Case,  as  with  a  hundred  others  he  shook 
the  preacher's  hand  after  the  services  closed. 

"Ay,  Brother  Case,  it  is.  And  it  is  a  far  more  blessed 
thing  for  religion  to  get  hold  of  us  once  more,"  replied  the 
Parson. 

%    %    % 

On  the  day  after  he  had  preached  this  stirring  sermon, 
the  Parson's  family  were  all  gathered  in  the  cozy  sitting-room, 
early  after  dinner.  The  Parson  was  reading  his  paper  by  a 
window,  and  the  girls  were  all  busy  on  various  little  articles 
they  were  making  as  gifts  for  the  coming  holiday. 

"And  to  think  it  is  only  five  days  to  Christmas!"  exclaimed 
Ruth.  "What  do  you  want  for  a  Christmas  gift,  pa?" 

The  Parson  laid  down  his  paper  and  looked  at  her  with 
a  slight  shadow  in  his  eyes.  Presently  he  said  tenderly: 

"None  of  you  must  think  any  more  about  me.     I  Ve  had 


376  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

enough  joy  to  make  all  the  rest  of  my  life  bright  and  happy." 
Then  after  a  pause  he  went  on  regretfully,  "I  'm  very  sorry 
we  can't  make  the  coming  Christmas  as  sweet  as  I  'd  like  to 
have  it;  but  the  little  means  your  mother  and  I  had  saved  up 
were  sadly  eaten  into  during  the  last  two  months.  However," 
he  broke  out  more  cheerfully,  "the  Lord  will  provide,  and  we 
shall  see  what  will  happen  when  Christmas  day  comes." 

"Do  n't  you  worry,  pa,"  cried  Ruth,  going  to  him  quickly 
and  patting  him  on  the  cheek.  "We  have  got  you,  and  that 
is  worth  everything  else." 

"Bless  your  dear  heart,  daughter;  do  you  think  so?"  fal- 
tered the  Parson,  drawing  her  glowing  face  down  with  both 
hands  and  kissing  her  tenderly. 

"Well,  I  just  do!"  exclaimed  Ruth  earnestly,  and  then 
after  cuddling  him  awhile  she  went  back  to  her  sewing. 

The  Parson  fell  into  a  brown  study  for  a  time,  but  look- 
ing up  suddenly  he  said: 

"I  saw  Mr.  Borden  to-day,  boys.  He  told  me  he  had 
found  your  gun,  and  daddy's  old  sword  in  the  slaughter-house. 
Forgot  to  bring  'em  in,  he  said,  but  we  can  get  them  any  time 
we  go  by." 

"Oh,  pa!"  exclaimed  William  scrambling  up  from  the 
floor  where  he  had  been  lying  at  full  length;  "let's  go  an'  git 
'em  to-day.  We  might  find  some  squirrels  on  the  way  back, 
and  have  a  pot-pie!" 

"Yes,  do,  pa,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Flint.  "The  day  is  so 
bright  and  lovely.  It  will  do  you  good  to  drive  out  and  get 
the  fresh  air." 


SUNSHINE  AFTER  STGRM.  377 

"Mebbe  you  are  right,  Dolly,"  said  the  Parson  cheerily. 
Then  turning  to  the  boys  he  added,  "Fly  around,  my  sons,  if 
ye  want  to  go.  Give  the  old  charger  some  water  and  harness 
him  up  for  your  daddy." 

Away  the  delighted  boys  ran,  and  in  an  incredibly  short 
time  the  old  two-seated  family  carriage  was  waiting  at  the 
gate.  As  the  Parson  drove  away  he  found  Doctor  Parker 
leaning  on  the  fence  before  his  office,  seemingly  with  nothing 
to  do.  Halting  Daniel  the  Parson  hailed  the  good  physician 
with  warm  friendliness: 

"Good  day,  Doctor!  You  don't  seem  to  be  very  busy 
just  now." 

"No;  for  a  wonder,  I  ain't,"  replied  the  doctor,  scanning 
the  Parson  through  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  with  head  on  one 
side.  "I  'm  trying  to  take  it  easy  for  once." 

"Then  come  git  in  here  and  take  a  drive  with  us,"  re- 
joined the  Parson  insistently.  "We  are  going  out  to  Mr.  Bor- 
den's  to  git  some  of  the  boys'  traps  he  has  in  keeping." 

"Well,  now,  you  are  very  good,  Parson,"  said  the  doctor 
with  some  hesitation,  and  after  a  moment's  thought  he  added, 
"The  fact  is,  I  feel  very  lazy  to-day,  and  I  guess  I  '11  go.  Then 
no  one  will  come  and  make  me  go  to  work  again." 

Over  the  old  familiar  road  Daniel  jogged  once  more; 
and  it  might  be  that  some  memory  of  his  wild  race  lingered 
in  his  brain  too;  for  when  he  came  round  the  end  of  the  ridge, 
his  flopping  ears  arose  and  he  looked  sharply  at  the  road  which 
lay  ahead. 

"You   know   I    never   did   get   the   straight   of   that  story, 


378  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

/* 

Parson,"  said  Doctor  Parker,  who  evidently  felt  like  being 
entertained.  "As  we  drive  along  you  must  tell  me  yourself 
just  how  it  happened,  and  point  out  the  interesting  places." 

And  the  Parson  did  so,  graphically  relating  the  incidents 
one  by  one.  "Here  is  where  the  last  shots  were  fired.  This 
is  the  place  where  Nathan  jumped  down  and  took  that  trail 
over  the  ridge;  and  it  was  n't  two  minutes  before  the  guerrillas 
came  flying  around  the  bend  here  and  tore  loose  at  us.  Yon- 
der is  the  bridge.  And  there  is  the  place  where  I  struck  the 
road  on  the  way  from  poor  Guthrie's;  and  when  I  had  got 
about  here,  just  by  that  big  tree  on  ahead  I  saw  the  boys  com- 
ing. I  was  completely  upset;  and  they  met  me  just  here,  so 
short  of  breath  it  was  all  they  could  do  to  speak." 

Among  these  familiar  landmarks,  the  whole  scene  became 
so  vivid  that  the  Parson  could  fairly  see  it  again;  his  tones 
hoarsened  with  kindling  emotions,  and  his  deep  voice  faltered. 

He  looked  at  the  boys  with  glowing  eyes.  "Ye  'd  come 
to  save  yer  daddy,  had  n't  ye,  my  sons?  And  only  the  day 
before  he  had  treated  ye  like  some  old  animal!" 

"Good  boys!"  exclaimed  Doctor  Parker  heartily.  And 
then  to  put  down  his  own  feelings  that  caused  his  slanting  eyes 
to  look  more  crooked  than  ever,  he  said  loudly.  "All 's  well 
that  ends  well,  Parson.  But  what  strange  and  unexpected 
things  do  happen  to  us  in  this  common-place  old  world!  The 
thing  would  make  a  wonderful  story;  you  ought  to  write  it  out." 

"I  '11  leave  that  for  the  boys  when  they  grow  up,"  re- 
joined the  Parson  with  a  smile.  "They  did  most  of  it;  they 
and  the  old  horse  here." 


Si  \SII2.\E  AFTER  STORM.  379 

To  lighten  the  load  for  Daniel,  Nathan  and  William 
walked  up  the  long  hill,  and  then  getting  into  the  buggy 

again,  they  were  soon  at  their  destination.     In  response  to  the 

~ 

Parson's  hail  Mr.  Borden  came  out,  and  when  he  saw  who 
it  was,  brought  the  gun,  sword  and  quilt,  together  with  the 
very  apron  in  which  the  boys  had  carried  their  bread  and 
gritty  beef-bone.  Then  declining  a  very  cordial  invitation  to 
get  out  and  stop  awhile,  the  Parson  turned  Daniel  about  and 
started  for  home.  As  they  approached  the  slaughter-house  on 
their  return,  Doctor  Parker  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"Let 's  go  and  see  the  place.  Parson.  I  must  look  at  the 
stage  setting,  where  the  tragedy  first  began." 

To  humor  his  whim  the  Parson  halted,  tied  Daniel  to  a 
sapling  and  together  they  all  made  their  way  through  the 
bushes  toward  the  half-hidden  building. 

The  slant  afternoon  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  streaks 
of  its  golden  light  shot  through  the  cracks,  barring  the  dusky 
interior  with  a  steady  glow.  Nothing  had  been  changed.  The 
pile  of  dry  hides  had  not  been  moved,  and  the  great  iron  hook 
hung  sullenly  from  its  heavy  support.  Most  of  the  hogs  that 
had  disturbed  the  boys  on  that  eventful  night  had  fallen  under 
the  butcher's  ax,  and  had  swung  from  the  hook  but  a  few  days 
previously;  and  one  golden  bar  from  the  wintry  sun  fell  aslant 
the  hardly  dried  blood  beneath  it. 

In  the  presence  of  these  sinister  surroundings,  the  memory 
of  their  terrible  night  made  the  boys  shudder  anew.  Doctor 
Parker  was  full  of  interest,  and  at  his  request  Nathan  re- 
lated most  of  the  incidents  that  occurred,  terrible  to  re- 


380  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

call  even  though  long  weeks  had  elapsed  since  they  were 
enacted. 

"We  was  behind  these  skins  here,"  he  concluded;  "and 
when  the  captain  had  sent  his  men  out  to  hide  and  watch  for 
pa,  that  fellow  he  called  Dave  handed  the  captain  a  rope.  He 
made  a  loop  in  it  and  flung  it  over  the  hook  up  there.  Then 
he  swore,  and  said  they  'd  all  pull  hard  on  it,  because  Jordan 
Blake  thought  pa  was  so  heavy.  Then  when  they  'd  got  that 
done  they  took  off  their  belts— 

At  this  point  in  his  recital,  Nathan  stopped  as  if  hex  had 
been  shot.  When  the  Parson  looked  at  him  the  boy's  eyes  were 
opened  widely,  and  he  was  beginning  to  tremble.  Thinking  it 
was  the  disturbing  memory  of  the  scene  that  ailed  him,  the 
Parson  laid  an  assuring  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  said: 

"The  danger  was  all  over  long  ago,  my  son.  You  said  that 
they  took  off  their  belts — go  on." 

"Pa,"  faltered  Nathan  presently,  clinging  to  his  father's 
hand,  "was  all  them  guerrillas  killed?" 

"Not  all  of  them,  my  son.  A  few  of  them  scattered  into 
the  hills  and  got  away.  The  guards  got  most  of  them, 
though." 

"Did  they  kill  the  captain?" 

"Yes;  he  and  several  others  were  dropped  at  the  first  shots 
the  home-guards  fired." 

"And  did  they  kill  that  man  he  called  Dave?" 

"That  T  don't  know." 

"Did  any  of  'em  come  back  here?" 

"Not  one  of  them,  Nathan.     They  did  n't  dare,  and  be- 


SUNSHINE  AFTER  STORM.  381 

sides  that  they  did  n't  have  time.    They  took  short  cuts  to  the 
river  after  crossing  the  bridge  down  in  the  bottoms  there." 

As  this  conversation  proceeded  Nathan's  excitement  be- 
came more  and  more  intense.  Suddenly  he  exclaimed: 

• 

"Come  with  me,  pa;  ther 's  something  they  left  behind." 

Wondering  and  excited  themselves  by  the  boy's  strange 
emotion  the  two  men  and  William  followed  him  out  of  the 
building.  He  made  straight  for  a  stump  about  thirty  paces 
distant.  Leaning  over  he  looked  into  this  and  started  back 
with  a  shrill  cry: 

"Oh,  pa,  here's  a  whopping  big  snake!" 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Parson  in  astonishment;  for  it  was  «a 

the  time  of  year  when  all   reptiles  should  be   denned  up   for 
the  winter.- 

Seizing   a   stout   stick,    the    Parson    hurried    forward    an 
peered  over  the  edge  of  the  hollow,  touched  the  reptile  with 
his  club  and  then  said  with  a  smile: 

"It  won't  hurt  you,  my  son." 

But  there  it  lay,  coiled  into  frozen  spirals,  ugly  and  men- 
acing, a  ghostly  guardian  of  the  guerrilla's  gold — stone  dead. 
Doubtless  it  had  descended  from  above,  and  the  receptacle 
being  wider  at  the  bottom  than  the  top,  it  could  not  escape 
from  its  prison. 

When  assured  that  the  scaly  monster  was  harmless,  Na- 
than reached  in,  plucked  the  dead  reptile  out  and  threw  it 
away.  Then  he  stooped  again,  clawed  aside  the  matted  leaves 
upon  which  the  serpent  had  lain,  and  in  an  instant  straightened 
up  with  the  belts  of  the  dead  bandits  in  his  trembling  hands. 


THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 


"They  took  'em  off  and  dropped  'em  in  here  when  they 
left  the  slaughter-house  to  hide  for  pa,"  he  gasped.  "There  's 
lots  of  gold  in  'em,  they  said!" 

The  Parson  stared  in  speechless  amazement,  and  it  was 
Doctor  Parker  who  took  the  belts  from  Nathan's  outstretched 
hands.  When  he  felt  their  weight,  and  fingered  the  canvas 
sides,  he  raised  a  great  shout,  and  threw  his  dignity  to  the 
winds : 

"Who-o-op-pee!"  he  yelled,  swinging  the  articles  wildly 
above  his  head.  "The  spoils  of  war,  Parson!  The  spoils  of 
war!  All's  well  that  ends  well!  I  said  that  before!" 

How  the  Parson's  hands  did  shake  as  he  felt  the  weight 
of  these  sudden  riches.  How  the  gleeful  boys  did  caper  and 
shout  and  turn  cartwheels  until  the  few  hogs  yet  in  the  pen 
seemed  to  catch  the  infection  of  their  excitement.  They 
plunged  awkwardly  about,  relieving  their  frisky  feelings  in 
those  piggish  barks  the  boys  knew  so  well: 

"Boo!    rBoo!     Boo-uh-wooh!" 

And  finally  when  the  joyful  four  started  for  town  again, 
Daniel  striding  along  with  a  vision  of  corn  in  his  mind's  eye, 
what  a  different  trip  it  was  to  that  o*f  coming  out!  When  they 
arrived  at  the  parsonage  there  were  Daddy  Case  and  another 
parishioner  on  a  visit,  and  full  of  rejoicing  over  the  Parson's 
recovery.  The  great  good  news  was  quickly  told  to  the  won- 
der-struck family  and  friends,  but  they  could  hardly  believe 
their  own  ears  until  the  yellow  treasures  were  lying  in  a  beau- 
tiful heap  before  them. 

When  emptied  from  the  greasy  belts,  piled  up  and  counted, 


"Whoop-pee!"  veiled  the  Doctor 


SUNSHINE  AFTER  STORM.  383 

the  sum  was  but  a  trifle  under  thirteen  thousand  dollars,  all  in 
solid  disks  of  gold,  which  at  that  time  was  at  a  high  premium. 
Daddy  Case  made  a  hasty  calculation,  and  announced  that  the 
real  value  of  the  amount  was  somewhere  near  fifteen  thousand 
dollars. 

"But  have  we  any  right  to  keep  it?"  suddenly  asked  the 
Parson  in  a  pause  of  the  excited  comments. 

"Why  man  alive!"  exclaimed  Doctor  Parker  astonished  at 
this  unheard-of  question;  "Keep  it!  Why  shouldn't  you 
keep  it?" 

"I  should  say  so,  Parson,"  chimed  in  Daddy  Case  warmly. 
"It  is  prize  money.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  ship  giving  up  its 
prize  money?" 

"We  might  be  able  to  find  the  owners  or  their  people," 
faltered  the  conscientious  Parson. 

"Nonsense!"  shouted  the  Doctor.  "Why  man,  if  you 
should  advertise  for  an  owner,  there  'd  be  a  thousand  thieves 
try  to  claim  the  stuff.  You  '11  never  find  any  more  rightful 
owner  of  it  than  yourself;  and  don't  you  be  foolish  about  it 
now.  That 's  my  advice." 

Just  here  Nathan  broke  in  with  his  recollections  of  how 
the  guerrillas  had  said  the  gold  was  picked  up  in  a  hundred 
places,  and  the  visitors  declared  that  this  only  showed  how 
futile  it  was  for  anyone  to  seek  those  who  had  owned  the  money 
in  the  past.  The  opinion  was  all  one  way,  and  it  finally  ap- 
peased the  Parson's  scruples.  He  thought  it  over  for  a  few 
moments  and  then  said  significantly: 

"This  stuff  all  belongs  to  my  boys." 
28 


384  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

"No,  pa!"  cried  Nathan,  taking  his  hand.  "It's  all  yours; 
we  'd  never  'a'  got  it  if  it  had  n't  been  fer  you." 

The  Parson  reached  out  a  big  hand  to  William  and  drew 
him  up  by  his  other  side. 

uAnd  what  do  you  say,  my  son?"  he  asked  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye. 

"Why  uv  course  it  belongs  to  you,  pa,"  William  said 
eagerly,  "but  we  kin  have  things  fer  Christmas  now,  can't  we? 
You  '11  buy  me  a  brass  cannon,  an'  some  marbles,  an  'a  rubber 
ball,  an'  somethin'  to  shoot  it  with,  won't  you?" 

William  doubtless  meant  something  to  shoot  the  cannon 
with,  but  in  his  great  excitement  his  words  naturally  got  tangled. 

"You  just  see  if  I  do  n't!"  said  the  Parson  laughing,  while 
the  others,  ha,  ha'd  uproariously. 

It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  all  that  was  said  before  the 
visitors  left  the  parsonage;  but  it  was  the  Parson  who  finally 
decided  on  what  should  be  done  with  the  money. 

"I  shall  place  ten  thousand  dollars  of  it  out  at  interest, 
so  that  the  boys  shall  have  a  good  start  when  they  grow  up," 
he  said.  "The  balance  of  it  we  can  make  mighty  good  use  of 
at  present.  There  are  some  things  we  want  to  do  without  any 
delay,  and  one  of  them  is  to  pay  your  bill,  Doctor  Parker;  that 
is,  as  far  as  money  will  go.  The  immense  debt  of  gratitude 
we  owe  you,  and  the  rich  friendship  we  can  never  wholly  re- 
quite." 

Thus  suddenly  addressed  the  good  doctor  blushed,  and 
actually  looked  embarrassed.  When  pressed  to  it  he  named 
a  ridiculously  low  sum,  and  the  happy  Parson  completely  flab- 


SUNSHINE  AFTER  STORM.  385 

bergasted  him  by  crowding  double  the  amount  into  his  hands, 
saying  "God  bless  you"  besides.  Then  the  tender  hearted  fel- 
low looked  queerer  than  ever,  and  his  eyes  actually  seemed 
trying  to  revolve  on  their  axes.  He  strove  to  say  something 
fitting,  but  like  those  dodging  optics,  his  words  turned  inwards 
and  he  finally  had  to  gulp  and  swallow  them. 

Royal  old  Doctor  Parker! 

In  all  the  land  there  was  no  happier  household  than  the 
Parson's  on  that  memorable  night.  The  wonderful  fortune 
that  had  so  strangely  fallen  to  them  seemed  too  good  to  be 
true.  When  the  visitors  had  gone  home,  the  family  sat  and 
talked  about  the  matter  for  hours,  going  over  every  detail,  and 
dwelling  with  sad  or  loving  delight  upon  each  incident  of  all 
those  eventful  weeks  that  had  brought  so  much  of  sorrow,  but 
in  the  end  such  an  overwhelming  joy. 

"And  now  my  dear  ones,"  said  the  Parson  at  last,  while 
his  eyes  grew  humid,  and  his  wondrous  voice  mellowed  to  a 
cadence  of  love  that  was  intensely  thrilling  and  impressive, 
"we  must  not  forget  the  marvelous  lesson  which  the  blessed 
Father  of  us  all  teaches  us  in  what  has  happened.  There  is  a 
fragment  of  Scripture  that  keeps  ringing  in  my  ears,  over  and 
over,  'All  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love 
God.' 

"And  it  is  that  word  'together'  which  means  so  much. 
Think  of  all  that  has  happened  in  the  last  three  or  four  months! 
How  full  of  threat  and  dread  some  of  these  things  seemed  to 
be  at  the  time!  Taken  separately  they  didn't  always  seem  to 
be  working  for  good;  but  'together!'  Ah,  that  is  the  great 


386  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

fact  we  must  look  to  for  the  explanation.  Surely  the  good 
Lord  ordereth  all  things  well!  He  maketh  the  wrath  of  men 
to  praise  Him,  and  the  remainder  of  wrath  will  He  restrain. 
How  wonderfully  He  has  done  this  all  along!  In  a  strange 
blindness  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  one  thing  worth  remem- 
bering above  all  others, — that  Love  endureth  long  and 
is  kind.  May  the  good  Lord  never  suffer  me  to  forget 
it  again! 

"Then  when  my  error  had  borne  its  evil  fruits;  when  the 
boys  suffered  unjustly  and  rebelled;  when  they  ran  away,  and 
got  to  that  slaughter-house  where  the  Devil  had  his  trysting 
place;  when  those  misguided  men  laid  their  foul  snare;  when 
the  boys  came  to  warn  their  daddy  who  was  blindly  riding 
into  the  awful  danger;  and  when  the  brave  old  horse  was  fly- 
ing from  it,  while  our  lives  hung  upon  his  feet  and  speed; 
when  afterwards  the  clouds  grew  black  and  the  way  seemed 
leading  down  into  the  valley  of  death; — oh,  looked  at  singly, 
and  at  the  very  time,  none  of  these  heart  shaking  incidents 
seemed  to  be  working  for  good!  But  taken  'together!'  See 
how  out  of  all  the  maze  of  danger  the  great  Guide  has  safely 
led  us;  and  each  incident  was  but  a  step  of  the  way,  a  part  of 
the  purpose  'working  together  for  good!'  My  heart  is  over- 
running with  measureless  gratitude  for  all  the  good  Father's 
forbearance  and  tender  mercies  toward  us!" 

Here  the  Parson's  love  burdened  tones  faltered,  and  he 
caught  his  breath  audibly,  while  glad  tears  of  sympathy  and 
recognition  glistened  in  the  eyes  fixed  upon  him  in  reverential 
interest  in  his  words. 


SUNSHINE  AFTER  STORM.  387 

Suddenly  Ruth  sprang  up,  walked  to  the  Parson,  flung 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  furiously. 

"Oh  pa,  how  I  love  you!"  she  exclaimed. 

The  Parson  folded  her  in  his  embrace,  and  returned 
her  impetuous  caress  with  indescribable  tenderness  and  af- 
fection. 

"God  bless  you,  my  precious  girl!"  he  said  earnestly.  "I 
love  you  too;  and  I  know  what  love  means  now,  as  I  never 
knew  it  before." 

Ruth  returned  to  her  chair  with  heart  aglow.     Suddenly >?**~^ 
the  Parson  reached  out  his  great  arms  to  the  boys  and  said, 

"Come  here,  my  sons." 

They  went  to  him,  and  he  took  one  of  them  on  each  knee, 
holding  them  close  to  his  heart,  while  he  repeated  from  mem- 
ory the  twenty-third  Psalm,  "The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  I 
shall  not  want." 

As  the  words  began  to  fall  from  his  lips,  Mrs.  Flint,  the 
girls  and  the  two  boys  joined  in  to  the  very  last.  And  what 
unutterable  meaning  it  had  to  them!  "Yea,  though  I  walk 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil; 
for  Thou  art  with  me!"  and  so  on  to  the  triumphant  climax  of 
the  noble  thought,  "And  I  shall  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord 
forever!" 

Then  the  Parson  knelt  for  family  prayer,  and  in  a  circle 
of  welded  hearts  and  embracing  arms,  the  household  knelt  close 
about  him.  Never  did  such  sweet  incense  rise  from  grateful 
souls  as  from  theirs  that  glorious  night!  For  sorrows  may  fall, 
terrors  may  threaten,  and  sickness  spread  its  sable  shadow  over 


388  THE  PARSON'S  BOYS. 

loving  hearts,  but  these  uplifted~ones  had  truly  found  that  "joy 
cometh  in  the  morning." 

The  tender  prayer  ended,  and  after  a  sweet  silence  the 
Parson  arose  to  his  feet.  But  to  the  great  surprise  of  all  Wil- 
liam still  remained  upon  his  knees,  his  tow  head  buried  in  his 
arms  upon  the  chair,  and  he  weeping  with  some  convulsive 
emotion. 

"What  is  it,  my  son?"  asked  the  Parson  in  a  concerned 
voice,  as  he  knelt  again  by  the  shaking  urchin,  and  put  one 
loving  hand  upon  his  head. 

"Oh — pa,—  '  snuffled  William  between  his  sobs,  "I — I— 
think — I — I  Ve — g-go-got  re — religion!" 

"Praise  the  Lord!"  ejaculated  the  Parson  fervently;  for 
he  believed  in  early  conversions.  "It  seems  to  me  you  Ve  al- 
ways had  a  good  share  of  it,  my  son.  But  what  makes  you 
think  you've  got  religion  just  now?" 

"  'C — c — c — cause  I  'm  s — s — s — sor-rry  I  d-d-did  n't  throw 
away  that  haw-haw — hawk's  foot  when  ye  told  me  to!" 

With  a  sudden  sound  in  his  throat,  between  a  laugh  and 
a  sob,  the  Parson  reached  down  and  gathered  William  close 
to  his  heart. 


THE  END. 


